


it starts and ends with you

by lilibug



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Cheryl is extra af, College AU, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, a college rom-com basically, a rom-com if I ever saw one, and Archie is a pupper, and it's glorious, bughead are meant to be, in which I write some very cheesy, it's great, they just don't know it yet, tropey things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-05-16 16:49:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14815158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilibug/pseuds/lilibug
Summary: His eyes focused on her, and in the low light they were dark, blue confined to the rim. “It’s like… Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing.”Betty sucked her lip between her teeth, thinking about the way he quoted Oscar Wilde like a man out of her dreams.It really wasn’t a surprise that at the end of the night she had tugged on Jughead’s stupid striped shirt and pulled him into her room.He had practically talked his way into her underwear.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jandjsalmon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jandjsalmon/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. I am not sorry about this at all. Open ended chapter number for now, as I'm not sure where this ends anymore. But not terribly long. 
> 
> For [jandjsalmon](http://jandjsalmon.tumblr.com), an awesome lady and great friend. I hope you like it! 
> 
> I use quotes from New Girl's Schmidt character for Cheryl, because that's like, her in male form and their lines are mostly interchangeable. Lol. 
> 
> Beta'd by my babes, [opportunistichag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpportunisticHag/pseuds/OpportunisticHag) and [theheavycrown](https://theheavycrown.tumblr.com).

 

It started on Halloween.

Betty’s roommate and coincidentally, cousin (albeit third cousins), Cheryl Blossom, had demanded she accompany her to a costume party at Greek Row on campus. The houses were having a large, combined block costume party. The alcohol would be plentiful and the costumes slutty.

Cheryl’s exact words were: “I’m really going to need you to step it up with your costume this year. When I see you, I want to be thinking, ‘Who let the dirty slut out of the slut house?’”

Betty had balked at her words, jaw unhinging a bit. “Cher,” she squeaked, as the redhead tore through the closet. Her hands pushed at the tiny scrap of clothing that Cheryl was holding up. “I can’t wear something like that.”

“Oh, Cousin,” the redhead patted the top of Betty’s head sympathetically. “You’re like a flower. A little, damaged flower. But trust me,” she held the little red dress up and stretched the latex print in her hands. “Your body would be banging in this. Go as a sexy devil. Make the boys bow at your feet.”

Like Betty had the confidence for that.

Shakkng her head, she pushed the dress back at Cheryl. “I’ll choose my own costume.”

Red painted lips turned down in a frown and she ignored the puppy dog pout and big brown eyes in favor of looking at the ceiling.

“At least let me suggest some additional options.”

Falling back on the other girl’s bed, Betty scrubbed her hands over her face with a long-winded sigh. “Go ahead,” she murmured, with little intention to actually use any of her suggestions.

Cheryl fell in next to her, resting her chin against her shoulder. “What about a sexy nurse? Or sexy school girl? You would look good in plaid. Or flannel. A slutty lady lumberjack?”

“Why does everything have to have the word ‘slutty’ or ‘sexy’ in front of it?” Betty asked, scrunching up her nose and dropping her hands to the silky red sheets.

“It’s like, the law of the Halloween gods to dress slutty. It’s the one night you can get away with pretty much anything, B.” She said it like it was the most important day in the world.

Turning onto her side, Betty snuggled into the bed. “I’ll figure something out. What are you wearing?”

“Oh,” Cheryl smirked, flipping her hair over her shoulder and posing atop the custom-ordered bedsheets. “I’m going as Little Red Riding Hood, of course.”

Yes, of course.

Although, come Friday, it turned out that Betty had actually sort of forgot to follow through on her promise to get a costume together.

She had spent her evenings during the week doing some extra studying, since her Friday night would be occupied, and probably Saturday as well, unless she could avoid the alcohol. However, considering who she was going with, that was unlikely.

Cheryl was a drink pusher. She had plenty of money to flaunt around (her parents owned a maple syrup empire in upstate New York) and always bought extra drinks when they went out. It was no different at a party where everything was _BYOB_ or otherwise.

So, Betty had intended to block off the following day for recovery.

It wasn’t until her last class on Friday, when she realized that she’d have to pull a costume out of thin air. Although, Betty had a little nudge.

She always sat next to Jughead Jones, a fellow student that she often found herself neck and neck with for top marks in shared classes. They had begun school the same year and had maintained a steady competition since their first semester. Their majors overlapped in many classes, her English Literature to his Creative Writing.

They both preferred to sit near the front, but far back  enough that they didn’t get showered by the product of their professor’s seemingly constant cold.

The third week of classes, Jughead had leaned in next to her and whispered, “Hey, don’t you think it feels sub zero in here? Maybe that's why he's got a cold all the time. He's really leaning hard into the material, creating the winter of our discontent.”

Betty couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up and spilled out of her throat, causing heads to turn and stare at her as she clamped a hand over her mouth. Jughead had leaned back in his seat with a smirk on his face, eyebrows lifting at her, pencil twirling between his fingers. He mouthed, “ _Pay attention, Cooper_ ,” and winked before he turned back towards the professor.

Today, he’d poked her with the end of his pencil while she had been scribbling notes furiously, trying to keep up as their wayward professor spoke a mile a minute. After her ignoring him for several minutes, Jughead leaned in towards her bubble of space and whispered in her ear, like he’d taken to doing when he really wanted her attention.

It was just her name, “Cooper,” he’d breathed lowly, but it _really_ got her attention.

The smell of old books and pine worked its way through her system and his warm breath caressing her bare ear made her freeze in her seat. She really needed to start wearing her hair down in classes with him.

Of course, Jughead never had any idea how much he affected her. Betty would always grit her teeth and fight the shiver that threatened to work its way down her spine. She didn’t have the time to dwell on feelings with her mother’s voice ringing through her ears as the word ‘scholarship’ burned in her throat.

Besides, what they had was fun. It pushed her to work harder, striving to get her name at the top of the grade list.

He was just a little bit out of her reach, anyway.

“What?” she hissed, glancing at him before looking back to the professor ranting on about the difference between consonance and alliteration.

“Are you going to the Halloween block party tonight?”

Tearing her eyes away from the lines of _The Raven_ scribbled on the board, she scrunched her nose up at Jughead. “Are _you_?”

To be honest, he didn’t seem like the partying type — especially at Greek Row.

Thinking on it, Betty hadn’t seen him at any of the parties she’d been forced to attend since starting University.

“Well,” he leaned a bit closer, tapping her shoulder with the end of his pencil again. “Archie wants me to go so he can use me as his wing-man. There’s some girl he’s trying to impress.”

“And what’s in it for you?”

Jughead shrugged a shoulder, leaning back in his chair. “I was hoping you’d be going. Plus, he promised we could go to the all you can eat buffet for lunch tomorrow, on him.”

“Oh.” Betty blinked, her eyes dropping to the notebook filled with her scribbles, a mix of printed and cursive writing. She clicked the of her pen with her thumb rapidly. “Well, I may be there.”

He perked up a little at her words. “ _May_? It would certainly help me tolerate the meat-heads if I had someone interesting to talk to.”

“Lucky for you, Cheryl is insisting I go. I just...” Betty pursed her lips, thinking about her lack of costume. “I don’t drink much.”

A look of understanding crossed his features and Jughead rested his hand on her arm.

His fingers curled around her wrist and she felt a little warmer than usual.

“I try not to either. I’m not planning on following in my father’s footsteps, but that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves. Maybe spend some time together?”

When he pulled away from her and tucked his pencil behind his ear, Betty couldn’t help but continue to watch him.

The light of Jughead’s blue eyes faced forward, but she could still feel his stare on her entire body. When he looked at her, it felt like he saw _all_ of her, not just what she put on display.

Clearing her throat, Betty turned her lips up in a small smile. “I’ll see you there then. Can’t abandon a friend in need, can I? The Hufflepuff curse.”

“I’m glad we’re friends then.”

 _So glad_ , she echoed silently, if a little sadly.

“But, I _will_ beat you on this midterm, Cooper.” The corner of his lips turned upward in what was sure to be a playful smirk.

She rolled her eyes, the flutter in her chest picking up as he turned to look at her again. “You can certainly try, Jones. But it’s a bright cold day in April, the eleventh hour is up and the clocks are striking 12.”

Jughead snorted, reaching up into the mess of a hat on his head to scratch at the back of his neck. She had never seen him without the worn crown beanie and her fingers itched to replace his, to find what the hair felt like underneath.

“Did you really just combine quotes from George Orwell and _Doctor Who_?” He asked in disbelief, but looked impressed nonetheless.

Betty only smiled sweetly at him, with a shrug of her shoulders. “I’m a complex girl.”

“That’s what makes you so interesting.”

The rest of the class was spent with her tongue in her cheek. The quality of her notes on the second half of the page had decreased until they turned to a litany of little black ravens flying across the bottom edge.

 

*

 

When her last afternoon class let out, Betty stopped at the Banera cafe to grab a bagel. She slathered it in strawberry cream cheese and ate on the go.

The walk to the apartment was only about ten minutes from campus. They lived on the second floor of their building, above a nail salon, which was entirely too convenient for Cheryl.

Bounding up the steps in the quiet hallway, Betty put her key in the lock just as she swallowed her last bite. Her purse came off her shoulder and hit the kitchen counter as she kicked off her Converse.

She cracked open a bottle of water and took a few swigs before heading into her room. Opening her closet, she scanned the contents. Cheryl always said Betty’s closet was nothing but a cardigan goldmine.

Chewing on her lip, her eyes flickered over the array of sweaters and skirts and she tried to think of a something she could piece together. There wasn’t much that came to mind, especially nothing with the word ‘sexy’ in front of it. Librarian was all that was popping up, and she didn’t even have a pair of glasses, so the picture wasn’t really there.

By the time she had looked through everything on the hangers and in the bin under her bed, Betty was starting to get a little nervous.

The Halloween shop was surely out of the question. She wasn’t really willing to pay an outrageous amount of money for last pickings, which would probably end up being a crayon or something equally obscure.

With a sigh, Betty padded across the hallway and opened Cheryl’s door. The redhead wasn’t home yet, but she walked quietly across the creaky wood floor anyway.

Pulling the double doors to the closet open, she was assaulted with a plethora of red.

Cheryl was entirely too into the Blossom red aesthetic.

Her eye was drawn to the first hanger, a little red cape, a pleated white crop top, and a red plaid skirt hung clipped together. A pair of thigh high red boots, that clearly finished the ensemble, rested beneath and Betty shook her head.

Of course, Cheryl would look amazing in it.

Reaching out, her fingers grazed the thick material of the cape. She flicked past the articles of red that followed: silk, satin, lace. It was all designer, in names she could barely pronounce.

She stopped as her fingers brushed against denim, tugging the hanger free of the bar and holding it up. It was a pair of denim overalls, shorts that would probably barely cover her ass.  

Betty pursed her lips, but hesitated about putting them back.

Maybe she could work with this.

It was about her only option at this point, and she could make some sort of… sexy mechanic out of it. The costume would be enough to appease Cheryl, hopefully.

Taking the overalls from the hanger, Betty wandered back to her room to pull some other pieces from her own closet. She managed to find a red bandana to tuck in her pocket, a ball cap to stick her ponytail through, and a pair of fingerless gloves.

After pulling the overalls on, she fished around in her dresser drawers for a top. Avoiding the colors red and green, so that she didn’t resemble Mario or Luigi (though, admittedly, that wouldn’t have been terrible), she decided on a cropped navy tee.

Doing up the buckles, Betty turned in the mirror and looked over her shoulder. The shorts weren’t terribly short, but perhaps she’d tie a flannel around her waist anyway.

With Converse back on her feet and all her pieces put together, she kind of felt a bit like Winry from _Full Metal Alchemist_. All she needed was a wrench of some sort to carry around.

Falling back on her bed, Betty closed her eyes as the door to the apartment clicked open. It would probably take Cheryl another three hours to get ready to leave.

They ended up leaving the apartment at 8:45, which, according to Cheryl, would make them fashionably late.

“No one shows up to a party on-time, Betty dearest. It’s a definite faux pas. Even if it’s just frat boys scamming on girls. It’s a double cherry on-top no.”

Betty had heard the same thing a thousand times in the last two years of University. It should be ingrained in her brain by now but, being a punctual person by nature, it made her skin itch.

“Whatever you say, Cher-bear.”

They linked arms, setting out to the sound of Cheryl’s red stiletto boots clacking against the sidewalk in contrast to her own battle-worn Converse.

Betty hadn’t been permitted to wrap anything around her waist because Cheryl had “forbade" it, claiming her legs were an eighth World Wonder that demanded to be seen.

Her eyes rolled hard at that, self-consciously tugging down the hem of the borrowed shorts.

On their way to the party they ran in to the liquor store, where they used Cheryl’s immaculate fake ID to purchase as many bottles of vodka as they could carry, and one bottle of cherry wine.

Betty had picked out a bottle opener that was shaped like a wrench and tucked it into her front pocket as they walked out of the store with their arms full.

As the girls came down the street lined with fraternity and sorority houses, the atmosphere had changed considerably. It was easy to tell they were in the correct place. The decorations became racier and so did the people — scantily-clad women paraded around men calling out to each other rambunctiously.

They managed to get some guy dressed as Rick from _Rick & Morty_, to take the bottles before they made it all the way up the steps of the first house. He had practically drooled (which wouldn't have been so out of character) as Cheryl poked a red talon into his chest and told him to “be a good boy or she’d go get the big bad wolf.”

Holding onto the remaining bottle of wine, the girls made it into the house and poured the cherry concoction into red solo cups filled to the brim. Half of the cup in, Cheryl leaned over to refill their glasses and Betty had to take a big slurp so that she didn’t spill anywhere.

“Let’s go outside,” she had to practically yell into Cheryl’s ear.

It was quieter outside, the air having turned a touch chilly. It raised goosebumps all over Betty’s arms, despite her cheeks turning pink as she continued to sip at her drink.

They crossed the connected backyards of the houses, stepping over people making out in the grass and around tables of beer pong.

Cheryl’s heel got stuck in a crack between the concrete at the last house, right next to the pool. Her hand slipped out of Betty's as she swayed precariously near the water.

Before the redhead could fall to a very chilly, wet end, a hand shot out and wrapped around her forearm, yanking her forward and into the arms of… a werewolf.

“The big bad wolf is here to eat me after all, how tragic.” Cheryl smirked, leaning into the man’s chest.

He was wearing a white dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, and dress pants. A rubber wolf head covered his face, and fake hair with scratch marks ran up and down his arms.

When the mask came off, he was smiling down at Cheryl, a crooked grin on a redheaded, all-American type of guy.

“I don’t know,” he shook his head a little. “I still think Little Red Riding Hood could best the wolf.”

If the predatory gleam in Cheryl’s eyes was anything worth noting, this guy would have some real scratches on his back by the end of the night.

There was a tapping on Betty’s shoulder and she turned away.

“Glad you showed up, Betty Cooper.”

“Jughead Jones,” she breathed, relieved.

Her head tilted, taking in his costume as she looked him over.

He was wearing an orange and white striped shirt, some round glasses, and his usual crown beanie. His signature forelock fell into his eyes, extra curly today.

“Where’s Waldo?” Betty questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“I think you mean, _there’s_ Waldo.”

A snort, that had her covering her mouth, escaped her.

His small grin made Betty’s stomach flutter in weird ways and to combat it she took another gulp of her cherry wine.

Jughead nodded over her shoulder at the redheaded couple who had yet to separate from each other. “That’s my best friend, Archie. Always the hero.”

“Stark contrast to you,” she turned back to Jughead and the sour look on his face had her reaching out to him. Her fingers hooked around his forearm and she stumbled a little closer. “I didn’t mean like — well, I just mean, he doesn’t seem broody, like you. Doesn’t seem like you would mesh.”

His eyebrows raised, eyes flickering over her face before they dropped to her cup. “How much have you had to drink?”

Honestly, not as much as she would have liked for this moment.

“One and half cups?”

Jughead looked skeptical and plucked the cup from her hand. “Right. Well, maybe slow down for a bit? Take a break?”

Betty frowned, but he was probably right. She already felt like her limbs were tingling, so much more and her buzz would turn the corner to full on intoxicated quickly. “Okay, yeah, probably right. Break is good.”

Releasing a breath of air, she blew some strands of hair away from her face. She felt his eyes on her legs as she crossed her ankles, wiggling her toes in her shoes.

“So that’s Cheryl?”

“Yep,” nodding, Betty popped the ‘p’ of her confirmation. “My cousin, actually. Roommate. Best friend, I guess. Funny how that happened.”

“I could say the same about you two then.” Jughead smirked and took a drink from her cup. His face soured, like he’d just bitten into a lemon.

She had to stifle a laugh. “It’s Cheryl’s favorite wine. She is devoted to her aesthetic. Cherry everything with her.”

“Archie likes cherries well enough.”

Looking over her shoulder, Betty rolled her eyes at the pair, already locked in a kiss. Red lipstick smeared all over Archie’s lips as Cheryl grabbed at his shirt like she couldn’t get close enough.

“Gross,” Betty sighed.

Jughead looked amused. “So,” he drawled, looking her up and down in a way that had her cheeks flushing from more than the alcohol. “A mechanic?”

With a shrug of her shoulders, she tugged on the bib of her overalls. “Last minute thing. When you asked me about the party during class today, I had kind of forgotten that I needed a costume.”

“Well, you look good. I like this,” he said, hand reaching up and flicking the end of her ball cap before tugging on her ponytail.

As she followed the gleam in his eyes, Betty could have sworn his gaze dropped down to linger on her lips.

“Thanks.” She wasn’t sure what to do with her hands anymore and shoved them in the little pockets of her shorts.

“So, your place or mine?”

Suddenly, she was choking on air.

“I’m sorry — what?”

Jughead glanced over her shoulder at Archie and Cheryl like he hadn’t just made her heart beat like she’d run a marathon. “Where do you think they’re going to run off to? You live with Cheryl, right? Well, Archie’s my roommate.”

“Oh,” she closed her eyes for a moment and rubbed her hand up and down her arm. “I remember you saying you lived on 3rd Avenue, so probably mine. It’s closer.”

“Makes sense. You sure you want to stay there tonight?” His eyebrows raised and he turned away from the other couple.

Scrunching her face up, she laughed. “Not really? But I’ve got headphones.”

He took another sip of her drink, “Wow, that tastes very… red.”

Betty stole the cup back from him and drained the rest, cherry hitting her throat and washing down all the words she longed to say. Though, if she drank much more, they’d surely be coming back up.

Wiping the corner of her lips with her thumb, she noticed Jughead watching her. Her mouth started to move on its own, filling the space between them.

“Cheryl wears this lipstick — that’s maple flavoured, by the way,” she pointedly raised her eyebrows. “And sometimes I think that it’s got this like, love potion in it or something.”

The corners of his mouth started to raise. “Like she’s some kind of witch, stealing her victim’s lifeforce through kissing.”

Betty tossed her cup into the trash, not realizing they had even started walking away from the throng of people. “Then she goes home and wipes the lipstick off—”

Jughead grinned. “And when she takes off her ruby red necklace—”

“She turns into an old woman, with sagging skin—”

And finally, in unison, they shout, “Like Melisandre!”

She poked her finger at Jughead’s chest. “Jinx! You owe me a drink.”

He looked at her, curiosity dancing in his eyes. “Maybe we could get one and watch _Game of Thrones_ together, sometime.”

“That would be really fun. We could watch with Archie and Cheryl too.”

It’s not like Betty wouldn’t enjoy being alone with him, but she didn’t trust herself completely. If she didn’t want to make a fool of herself by thinking he would be interested in her like that, she needed a buffer.

Jughead’s smile fell a little and she felt a sharp pain in her gut. “That might get us some real live porn.”

She laughed, despite the odd feeling building in her fingertips. “We could always go to my room or your room if that’s the case.” Biting her tongue, Betty looked away from him.

“Right, though I’m not sure that would be a good idea either.”

A shiver ran down her spine.

“Are you cold?” Jughead’s face was transformed by a concerned frown, eyes watching goosebumps raise on her arms for a different reason.

She wanted to reach out and press her fingers to the little dimples in his cheeks.

Betty had started to say “No, I’m okay really—” when someone bumped into her as they ran past, their drink sloshing all over her front. She stumbled forward, and Jughead caught her with his arm around her bicep.

“Shit — are you okay?”

The way he was looking at her, she was sure she would be.

“Yeah,” she breathed, shaking her head and pulling away from him to stretch her shirt out from her skin. “—yeah, I’m just… gonna be all sticky now.”

“That guy didn’t even apologize,” Jughead stared in the direction the drunk frat boy had stumbled off to.

Shaking her head, Betty patted the front of her overalls. At least the drink was clear, from a small sniff, it just smelled like vodka. “It’s alright.”

“No it isn’t, Betty.”

He seemed frustrated all of a sudden, but she was a little caught up with the way he said her name.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve come to these parties with Archie and I watch people do that shit all the time. Not just guys either, there’s a real general lack of respect for others, their belongings, our surroundings. That guy could have just knocked you over — you could have been hurt, and he didn’t even think to care.” Jughead sighed and his hand went to his head, fingers dragging the beanie off and combing through his inky hair.

His eyes focused on her, and in the low light they were dark, blue confined to the rim. “It’s like… Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing.”

Betty sucked her lip between her teeth, thinking about the way he quoted Oscar Wilde like a man out of her dreams.

It really wasn’t a surprise that at the end of the night she had tugged on Jughead’s stupid striped shirt and pulled him into her room.

He had practically talked his way into her underwear.

 

_*_

 

Betty’s head was pounding.

It felt like a hangry contractor was working through their lunch and hammering away at her skull.

Burrowing her head into her pillow, she groaned, trying to shift onto her stomach.

The forearms snaked around her middle protested at the movement, and Betty sighed. She relaxed, enjoying the light press of fingers against her ribcage, just under her breast.

A nose nuzzled against her neck, blowing breath across her skin, and she couldn't help but wiggle her hips backward. She swatted at the arm tucked under her shirt, “That tickles.”

“Mm, sorry.”

Hips shifted against her backside and the distinctive press of _male_ , hot and heavy, nudged at the curve of her bottom.

Betty’s eyes popped wide open.

The sunlight was pouring in through the blinds, still open and bathing the room in midday sun. She blinked through the blur in her vision, fighting a yawn as her fingers stretched across the sheets to find her phone on the nightstand.

When she reached to grab it the body behind her groaned and Betty froze.

She wasn’t just dreaming.

Taking a slow breath, she glanced down to find two forearms underneath her rucked up shirt — which, wasn’t even an item she recognized as her own.

Although it did look familiar, dark grey with a faded S—

“Jughead,” she whispered, fingers plucking up the material of the shirt to look at the familiar arms looped around her middle.

He breathed against her neck, and Betty couldn't stop the shiver that rushed down her spine at his sleepy, “Yeah?”

Apparently, he was awake and had heard her whisper, confirming that not only had her midnight fantasies come true but that she was living out the awkward morning after.

Betty remembered the sex (which — A+, would repeat) and then him getting up to leave, but she’d pulled him back into bed and protested that he couldn’t just leave in the middle of the night.

Bare save his t-shirt, she was at least thankful that Jughead seemed to be wearing his underwear, but his thighs were pressed all along hers, making her unbelievably warm.

It wasn’t a bad thing, per se, but definitely not a position she should have put herself in.

It was very unlike her to have sex with someone in the first place. This was somewhat out of left field.

“Jug, get up.” Betty pushed at his arm that was curled around her ribs. His fingers only gripped her tighter, making her breath stick in her throat like peanut butter.

Jughead jerked away from her when she pinched his arm.

“What?” he mumbled, accidentally grabbing hold of her breast and eliciting a squeak.

“Let go!”

About five seconds passed before Jughead must have realized what he was doing, because he suddenly let go and scrambled away from her so quickly that he slid right off the bed.

Sitting upright, Betty leaned over and grimaced as he buried his head against floor, digging his forehead into the wood.

“Ugh — Betty?”

Chewing her lip, she replied hesitantly, “Yeah?”

She could hear his quiet groan.

“You remember last night, right?”

Nodding though she knew he wasn’t looking up at her, she confirmed, “Yes. I wasn’t really drunk.”

Betty felt flushed with an uneasy feeling, that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Her thighs were sore, akin to how she felt after a strenuous workout. Glancing down, she noticed finger shaped bruises on her hip and smoothed her thumb over them.

Jughead had gripped her hips so tightly, pulling her back to meet his thrusts as he slid into her. She could feel the ghost of his teeth on her skin when she brought her hand to her neck and rubbed the sensitive spot above her collarbone.

“Okay, wasn’t dreaming then. Good to know.”

He didn’t sound disappointed at least, instead, what she could only describe as a wistful tone laced his voice.

Laying back down on the bed, Betty tugged the hem of his shirt as far down as it would go on her thighs. “Right.”

Jughead’s head popped up over the edge of the mattress and she noticed his bedraggled hair. She bit her lip at the urge to push it back off his forehead, to run her fingers through the strands.

She remembered doing so the night before — putting her hands through it, yanking on the strands as he growled in her ear.

Betty’s cheeks flushed and she looked back to the ceiling.

He cleared his throat of the raspiness. “Maybe we should just... “

Just do it again?

“—just put our clothes back on. Friends wear clothes, you know? They definitely don’t… not wear clothes. And we’re friends right?”

Her stomach seemed to rise in her throat with a burn that made her eyes water. Swallowing it down, she breathed out.

“Right,” Betty nodded her head in agreement. “I think we’re friends. And friends don’t sleep together. So we should just not… do that again. Everything’s fine. No big deal.”

Jughead’s fingers drummed against the mattress and she imagined them doing the same up and down her sides.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Betty sat up just as Jughead stood from the floor.

“Oh.” She averted her eyes after lingering a touch too long on his tented boxers.

“Shit. Sorry,” he mumbled, turning his backside to her, hands cupping himself. “Good morning to me…”

Her lip twitched and she tucked her legs underneath herself, tugging the hem of the shirt over her knees. “This doesn’t _have_ to be weird. We just... go back to being friendly rivals that happened to have sex once upon a time.”

Despite the pain in her chest, she did prefer that option to one where they didn't speak at all.

“So, when the clock struck twelve I turned into a pumpkin, huh?”

Betty’s eyebrows raised as he sat back on the bed. She pointedly ignored the red marks she had likely painted up his back with her nails the night before. “Why do you say a pumpkin?”

“Well, I’m not exactly a princess, Betty.” She could sense his grin before he even turned to look at her over his shoulder. “I’ll leave that to you.”

The first thought that entered her mind was _no_ , a vehement rejection of the idea.

However, the sentiment was incredibly _sweet._

The look on Jughead’s face, when he twisted and brought his knee up to rest on the mattress — was, well, he looked smitten with his suggestion.

She wondered how bright red her cheeks were, considering she could feel them burning.

Betty had to keep telling herself that he was just being nice, though her stomach fluttered with his words, eyes drawn to the way he smoothed his hands across her cotton sheets.

With a hum under her breath, she fingered the slightly frayed hem of her borrowed shirt. “If anyone’s the pumpkin here, it’s me. You turned me into a princess. Now I’m just back to being regular ol’ Bettyrella.” The night being magical was not lost on her — there was truth to her words.

Jughead brushed a hand through his hair again, both hands able to leave his lap now, and she felt a little bit of tension leave her body. Though, now she was wondering where his beanie was.

“Am I a fairy godmother now?” He asked, amused.

A quiet giggle escaped Betty’s throat and she shook her head. “No. You’re much too tall for that.”

His chuckle made her feel like melting chocolate on a warm day, much too gooey and necessitating a cold shower.

“You know,” Jughead started, hand reaching out to tug on the end of ponytail that had flopped over her shoulder. “There’s nothing regular about you, Betts.”

He said it so decisively and the nickname on his tongue sounded like sweet honey.

 _Betts_? She swooned just a little, lips curving up into a smile she was unable to control. She liked that much better than him calling her Cooper. 

Had time slowed? Was he leaning forward? Was he about to _kiss_ her—

The door swung open and hit the wall with a resounding _clack_ that had Betty jumping with a hand clapped over her heart, quickened beats pounding under her fingertips. Her eyes darted to the door and she released a slightly exasperated sigh.

“Betty dearest — oh, whoopsie.”

Cheryl brought her hand to her throat to twirl at the chain of her necklace. Her hair and makeup looked immaculate, though her eyes looked tired underneath.

Peering over her shoulder, hair ruffled in every which direction, Archie raised a hand in greeting — which immediately turned into a wagging pointed finger directed at Jughead.

“Jug, what are you doing here?”

Blinking, Betty watched Archie glance between the two of them on the bed before raising his eyebrows in recognition.

Jughead just scrubbed a hand over his face before rising from the bed gingerly.

Cheryl placed her hand over Archie’s arm, bringing it down to wind around her waist. She looked to Betty with a smirk curling her ever red lips. “Well, M. Night Shyamalan couldn't have surprised me with this twist, honestly.”

Narrowing her eyes, Betty threw her a look and then shook her head.

Before Jughead could launch into a tangent on movie directors, the art of cinematography, and surprising plot twists in film, Cheryl cleared her throat.

“Archie, honeybunch, didn’t you say you were starving? Let’s all go to that restaurant you were going on about. Lest I let Betty here cook a frittata in a saucepan again.”

As if in cue, Archie’s stomach grumbled and Jughead did a sympathetic rub over his own.

Betty huffed, “That was one time.”

“Once was more than enough, I felt like I was in prison. Get dressed, losers.” Cheryl was already dragging Archie away from the doorway. “You have five minutes!”

Silence was both a blessing and a curse.

“Well, guess we’re really doing this.”

Looking up, Betty tilted her head as Jughead started to look for his pants.

“Doing what?” she asked, wondering why she analyzed everything that came out of his mouth for a double meaning.

He was pulling his jeans up long legs, to rest slung low on his waist.

She was a little sad to see him do up the button.

“Going to brunch with the redheaded couple from my nightmares. I keep imagining just how ginger their kids would be.” He was smirking as he fished for the orange striped shirt he’d been wearing the night before.

Betty slid off the bed, looking down at what she was wearing. “Where’d this one come from?”

Jughead found his beanie tangled up in a pile with her underwear and he carefully extracted it with averted eyes that made her lip twitch.

“I was wearing it underneath this one,” he gestured to the striped shirt he’d thrown on, tugging the sleeves up to his elbows. “I felt too orange-y without it.”

Laughing, Betty pulled a clean pair of underwear from her dresser and slipped them on discreetly. “I couldn’t even see it.”

“Well, I knew it was there.” He shrugged, but he kept his back turned away from her as he edged out of her room. His fingers scooped up the black combat boots as he put the rest of himself back together.

Lip caught between her teeth, she pulled out a pair of jeans to shimmy into.

“Jug… you’re not wearing it now.”

He paused in the doorway and looked over at her. The corner of his lip tilted up. “It’s okay. I know where it is.”

Jughead left her then, and she stumbled into the skinny legged pants. Pulling his shirt off was almost painful, and entirely too enticing, as she caught a whiff of his scent soaked in the soft fabric.

Throwing the shirt into her empty hamper, Betty turned her back to the door and finished dressing. A bra and white t-shirt with a pale blue cardigan would do just fine.

After taking her hair down and running a brush through the knots, she re-tied it into a bun high on her head.

She stopped for a quick trip to the bathroom then slid her feet into a pair of sandals and slung her purse over her head. “Ready,” she chirped at the group waiting by the door.

“You sure about that?” Cheryl commented off-handedly, looking her up and down.

Betty picked at the hem of her sweater. “Yes? Is there something wrong with my outfit?”

The redhead scrunched up her nose and shook her head a little, fake smile plastered on her face. “It’s better if you don’t know,” she replied sharply and turned on her platform velvet heels to head through the door that Archie was holding open.

Cheryl was always all malice, but she meant well, generally. It was the spoiled rich girl in her.

Feeling Jughead’s fingers at her elbow, Betty looked up to him.

“For what it’s worth, I think you look great.”

He slid his hand to her lower back, and even through her sweater she felt the warmth of his palm. It distracted her enough that all she could stammer out was a quiet, “Thank you”.

His hand lingered at her back as they left the apartment and walked down the block.

Betty soaked up his touch like the sun’s warm rays of light. She felt a little bit like a blooming flower.

This surely wouldn’t be awkward at all.

The all you can eat buffet actually had a decent spread for brunch, though Cheryl still eyed the food skeptically. It probably wasn’t unfounded, but Betty tried her best to ignore any negative thoughts and instead focused on fresh dishes as they were put out.

She had long since finished her two meal plates and one (self)allotted piece of carrot cake, but the boys were still chowing down. They must have had a hollow leg somewhere.

Cheryl dragged her to the bathroom while Archie and Jughead were drowning various items in the chocolate fountain.

Which was apparently just a social call to catch up on the beanie wearing male development that was currently eating his weights worth of food.

“What is up with you and Jughead? You were staring across the table at him for like, five minutes straight. Please tell me you were checking him out and not planning his murder.”

Wrinkling up her nose, Betty swatted at Cheryl’s grip on her arm. “I’m not a serial killer.”

Cheryl pursed her lips, turning away to face the mirror. She drew out a tube of lipstick, and uncapped it. “I never said anything about serial, dear Cousin.”

“Anyway,” Betty rolled her eyes, leaning against the sink and crossing her arms. “We’re not — I like him, but we’re just friends.”

That had the other girl raising an eyebrow as she reapplied the vibrant red color to her lips. “Just friends who have sex and stare at each other like they hung the moon?”

“Oh, hush. He is _not_ interested in me.” Betty sighed, “It was a one-time thing.”

With a hum, the redhead capped her lipstick. “I wouldn't plan on taking that to your grave.” Turning towards her, Cheryl tipped Betty’s chin up from where it had fallen. “You know you’re good enough for him, right?”

The sincerity in her voice made Betty’s stomach quiver.

“If anything, you’re leagues above that hungry badger.”

That had her giggling, “Sure, Cheryl.” Brushing it off, she pulled away from the hook of the red fingernail under her chin. “So, what about you and Archie?”

Changing the subject to something about Cheryl usually worked to deter attention away from Betty focused topics.

A pleased sigh dropped from her red lips. “Oh, sweet Archiekins. He’s an adorable ginger stallion, isn’t he?”

“Definitely. You guys moved kind of fast, though.”

Cheryl pointedly raised an eyebrow at her, and Betty grumbled. “Okay, touché. But to be fair, I’ve known Jug since we started school.”

“Right, and look how you went from like, zero to sixty. I approve, wholeheartedly. Hashtag proud.” She winked, smile turning her lips upward.

“Cheryl…” Betty sighed, her head starting to pound a little.

The other girl huffed, bristling. “Well, sorry to ruffle your feathers, Betty. But it’s pretty obvious.” She crossed her arms, looking serious for about thirty seconds before she melted. “Fine, I’ll stop — _for now_.”

“Thank you.” Betty wrapped her arms around Cheryl, squeezing her briefly.

“You know,” Cheryl started as they walked out of the bathroom. “Being with Archie is kind of like being licked by a golden retriever — but I don’t _abhor_ it,” she said almost sheepishly.

“That’s so cute! You’ve always wanted a puppy, Cher,” Betty teased with a laugh.

When they returned to the table, they saw Archie licking at his ice-cream cone and they burst into a fit of laughter.

It was going to be a good day.

 

 

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More cheese incoming! 
> 
> Tumblr things: [@lilibug--xx](https://lilibug--xx.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little saucier! Enjoy <3
> 
> Beta'd by my babes, [opportunistichag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpportunisticHag/pseuds/OpportunisticHag) and [theheavycrown](https://theheavycrown.tumblr.com).

 

Today was a bad day.

It wasn’t to say that it was a horrible day, because, well, she figured it could always be _worse._  But this was not an extension of the word ‘good’ in any language.

To begin with, Betty had overslept after staying up most of the night to study for a test. She had slept through the alarms on her phone as well as the physical clock that had fallen to floor and was still vaguely buzzing.

After getting ready in a minuscule fraction of time, throwing everything in her bag with disorganized chaos that had her screaming internally — including Jughead’s shirt that she’d been meaning to return — she rushed down the stairs in sweatpants and flip flops only to throw the door open and be assaulted by a torrential downpour of rain.

By the time Betty ran the several blocks to the university campus, she looked like a wet cat and was surely as grumpy as one.

The particular professor of her Sociology course had an intolerance for late arrivals and she arrived to find the door shut tight. Peering inside the glass pane, she saw everyone was already blocked off in the silence of concentration, eyes on the white sheets of paper in front of them.

With her forehead pressed to the glass, Betty closed her eyes and drew in a shaky breath. Her hands tightened into harsh fists and she felt the press of her nails deep in her palms. It lessened the dread that filled her entire body, if only slightly.

She would have to take the test at the testing center in the next day or so, with a 10% reduction to her grade, giving her very little wiggle room.

Instead of lingering any longer, she turned away from the classroom. Her toes squished wetly in her sandals and she shivered from the chill that had settled in her bones.

The rest of the day followed in a similarly disappointing fashion.

Pulling her wallet from her purse as she crossed the street, she lost her library pass. She chased it as it floated down the rivulet of water along the curb before it slid right through a storm drain.

Having seen _IT_ exactly once, Betty blanched, backed away from the sewer, and called the whole thing a lost cause.

In order to get into the library, she had to have a new card made, so her picture was in her current disheveled state. Wet hair that had started to dry at her roots, no make-up, and a white t-shirt that seemed permanently see-through flashed up at her in freshly printed plastic.

Very flattering.

Her unlucky streak continued when she swiped her bank card at the snack counter for a bag of chips and bottled water _—_ it was _declined_. After arguing with the cashier for 10 minutes about how that was _impossible_ , Betty checked her bank account.

It turned out that her automatic rent payment had been withdrawn twice, and it left her with a slightly negative balance.

She wanted to scream.

“Having a rough day?”

Looking up from where she had curled up into a ball in one of the overstuffed chairs in the back of the library, Betty blinked.

Jughead.

Of course he would see her at her worst.

She had been on the verge of crying and wiped a hand across her cheek, shaking her head. “You could say that.”

“This might help.” Holding out his hand, Jughead offered her the snacks she’d hopelessly been trying to purchase.

Shame flooded her, but her growling stomach  won the competition.

With pink cheeks that she wasn’t sure she could blame on anger or possibly catching death from the rain, Betty took the items from him. “Thank you.”

He sat down across from her, on the low table she had thrown her bag on. His knees bumped her bare foot — sandals forgotten on the floor as she moved to sit cross-legged in the chair.

“It was no trouble,” he paused, and Betty glanced up at him as he leaned forward onto his elbows.

He was entirely too close for her sanity to remain intact, but for different reasons.

Jughead’s lip twitched upwards, “Seemed like you were kind of in a pickle.”

An unexpected laugh burst from Betty’s throat and she crinkled the bag of chips in her hands; they were dill pickle flavored.

“Yeah, no shit.” She dropped them onto her bookbag and cracked open the bottle of water. After taking a drink and washing the taste of depression away, she leaned back into the chair and sunk into it with a sigh. “I guess you’re kind of like a prince now. Knight in shining armor, if you will.”

“You mean like Shrek, right? Because if I had to pick a prince, it’d be him.”

Knitting her brows together, Betty dropped the water bottle onto a stack of books beside the chair. “He’s not a prince, he’s an ogre.”

His eyebrows raised pointedly, “Exactly.”

With rolling eyes, she pushed at his shoulder and began to giggle.

Jughead straightened up a little. “But he does get the princess in the end.”

She must have stopped breathing for a moment, wondering where he was going with this, considering their conversation of pumpkins and princesses just two weeks ago.

God, had it been that long?

Betty’s eyes closed and she let Jughead’s calming presence settle her into something less tightly wound, but full of too many jittery butterflies. Her temple throbbed accordingly and she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I’m starting to get a headache Jug, don’t make me think.” The silence she was met with had her peeking an eye open, making sure he was still there. “What?”

He was tugging on the lock of hair curled outside his beanie, looping it around his finger. It fell back into place when he looked up at her suddenly, pupils narrowing in on her intensely. “You know what’s good for a headache?”

“What?” Betty repeated, unfolding her legs.

“An orgasm.”

Her eyebrows raised and she snorted. “I’ve heard that, but I don’t think I have the steam to test the hypothesis.”

“You know…” His eyes never strayed from her face, “I could give you a hand.”

Jughead offered it so casually that if it weren't for the dusting of pink across his cheeks, she might have thought she imagined it.

“You’re joking,” Betty countered, though her skin was already starting to heat up.

They had managed to go back to being semi-casual with one another in the span of time that had passed since Halloween.

Ribbing each other over their midterm scores, that had Betty gloating when she got the higher average, making fun of their professor, and even arguing over the underlying themes in _Moby Dick_ returned them to their normal.

(Betty had brought up that Melville’s work highlighted the reader's propensity to submit to authority, thereby teaching them to resist would-be oppressors and to question authoritative figures.

Meanwhile, Jughead had pointed out that the Melville was simply mirroring Ahab’s control over his crew with his own control over his readers. Just as Ahab needed the crew to create his authority and to hunt Moby Dick, Melville needed readers to enable his authority as an author.

Ultimately, they decided Melville showed that authoritarian figures cannot fully obtain power without the compliance of those under them.)

“I’m serious, Betty. Let me give you a hand.”

His palm flattened over the top of her knee, squeezing gently and sending a jolt down her spine.

Words were stuck in her throat and Betty surely looked like a fish out of water, floundering and sputtering to respond intelligently.

The suggestion immediately had her recalling how his hands felt before.

He had already seen her naked, been _inside_ her—

“Where?” Betty squeaked, throwing everything that her brain was screaming at her (vague things about how if sex happened more than once it wasn’t just a one night stand anymore) to the wind.

Jughead exhaled and she realized she had started to lean forward as his breath fanned across her face.

The way his lip had started to drag upwards had drawn her attention. He was already doing a splendid job of distracting her.

“Here,” he said simply, as if it was obvious.

With a careful glance around, Betty gave him a look to which he rolled his eyes.

“Stand up,” he instructed, waiting until she did so (stumbling into her sandals while she was at it) before following.

Grabbing her hand, Jughead pulled her to the furthest of the open stacks. Thick volumes of academic texts, slightly dusty, lined the shelves.

“Jughead you can't be serious. We’re in _public_ —”

He cut her off as his hands curled around her biceps, gently pushing her backwards into the shelf. “Just be quiet and it’ll be fine. No one comes back here.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Betty looked up at him through the low light this far corner of the building received. Ignoring the way the shelves were pressing at her back and shoulders, she tipped her head back to lean against the wall of books.

She chewed on her lip, watching as his eyes flickered down to it. “Shouldn't we… talk about this? Or something, I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like this.”

His hands slid down her arms only to raise back up, fingers cupping around her neck as his thumbs brushed the line of her jaw. “I haven't either, Betty.”

“Oh,” she breathed, not sure she had a more eloquent response in her with the way he shuffled closer.

Jughead’s hips pinned her against the shelf with their fronts pressed together. The warmth and solidness of his presence clouded her better senses.

“Just don’t think about it.”

Right.

As if she wouldn't be thinking about this moment when she closed her eyes for next month. Maybe longer.

Betty closed her eyes and sucked in a breath when his nose slid against hers. The touch was so light that she had to lean in to bump their noses together for more contact. His lips were a hairsbreadth away, and she wondered idly if they should make a rule about not kissing—

Jughead tilted her face with his hands and their lips came together, soft and slow.

It was a tease of a kiss but it made her head swim all the same.

Finally finding a place for her hands, Betty fisted them in the stupid flannel he always wore. Tugging him by the shirt, she pulled him closer.

Their lips pressed together more urgently, and one of Jughead’s hands slid into the line of her hair and tangled into the strands at the base of her neck. With his other, he gripped at her waist, fingers squeezing and holding her securely.

Between their kisses, he was swallowing her breath as fast as she could suck it in, lips moving against hers with purpose. It was a push and pull that had her clinging to him further, as if she might slip away without his grounding presence.

Tugging on her lower lip with a graze of his teeth, Jughead slid his hand from the position at her waist. He curled his arm around her lower back, pulling her against him.

Betty’s breath was coming out in heavy puffs and her cheeks felt warm _—_ the air around them seemed to grow thicker by the second. Her arms looped around Jughead’s neck as he kissed the corner of her mouth.

His breath was at her ear, hot and tingly, and it sent a wave of heat straight to her groin.

“Tell me you want this.”

As his tongue traced the shell of her ear, Betty’s eyes began to flutter. The books on the shelf in front of her were blurring together and she closed her eyes, dragging him more forcefully against her.

“Please.” She tilted her head to the side as his lips brushed down the column of her throat.

Jughead wasn’t quite kissing her, just hovering above her neck in a way that made her skin prickle with goosebumps. “I need you to say the words, Betty.” His hands were everywhere, running down her sides, gripping the backs of her thighs, and then inching under her shirt.

One of his hands curled around her ribcage, the press of his fingers causing her heart to pound loudly in her chest.

She drew in a shaky breath when his other hand tugged on the drawstring of her pants. “I _need_ you to make me come,” Betty whispered, her fingers threading through the strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

Pulling back from her neck, Jughead searched her face. His pupils were wide and dark, drowning in her.

With her thumb, Betty traced the constellation of freckles across his cheek.

He leaned into her touch, lips parting in a quiet sigh. “Betts…”

Smiling, she pulled at his neck and brought their lips together again. Their breaths mingled and she licked at his lip, lifting up on her toes in an attempt to get his hand moving again.

Taking her hint, he tugged on the drawstring again, untying it and sliding his fingers down the curve of her belly then under the waistband.

Their lips hovered over one another, Betty’s breath washing over his face as she exhaled. Her hands gripped his neck, fingers digging into his hair.

Jughead slid his fingers against the plain cotton underwear she had thrown on, touch light and fleeting. It was incredibly sensual and warmth began pooling in her belly, wetness apparent between her thighs.

He groaned against her jaw, burying his head back into her neck as his fingers rubbed the front of her underwear. “You’re wet for me.”

Nodding against him, Betty clutched her fists tightly in the layers of clothes at his sides when he pressed the heel of his palm between her thighs. She ground up into him, the pressure indirect and abating but not enough. It made her clit throb and she squeezed her thighs together.

“Ah, ah, ah. Spread those legs for me,” he tutted against her, warm breath ghosting down her neck.

Her thoughts were engrossed with how his fingers were sneaking underneath her underwear so Jughead used his knee to force her legs wider.

“There we go,” he murmured.

His fingers traced up and down her slit, her breath hitching higher as he spread her open.

“Jug.” Betty inhaled sharply, thighs tensing as he rubbed his fingers towards her clit without touching, then swooped back down to dip a finger into her pussy.

He was toying with her, making her head swim and her blood sing.

Teeth grazing her neck, Jughead slipped one finger inside her easily. He pumped into her a couple of times before retreating, finger gliding up to her clit.

It had her sighing against him, fingers twirling his hair and yanking gently. “More,” Betty choked out.

She could feel his smirk at her neck, and tugged harder on his hair.

Jughead’s hiss in her ear sent a shudder down her spine, just as he circled her clit with his fingers. “I wish I could put my mouth on you.” He pinched, pulling at her clit and rubbing his fingers together.

It pulled a high pitched whine from her throat that he hushed with his lips.

“Quiet,” he reminded against her mouth.

Her whole body felt like it was buzzing when his hand drifted back down and he dipped two fingers into her pussy.

His palm at her ribcage moved up to cup at her breast, finding her nipple through the thin fabric of her bra and rubbing his thumb against her over and over.

“S—sorry,” Betty mumbled, flickering her eyes open to find him watching the little expressions on her face with rapt attention.

“Do you want us to get caught, Betts?”

He thrust his fingers in and out of her slowly, creating slick sounds that made her bite at her lip.

Jughead leaned forward, nudging his nose against hers. “Do you want someone to see what I’m doing to you? That I’m fucking you with my fingers in the library?”

His breath tasted like sweet mint but it felt like fire across her lips.

She shook her head lazily, bumping their noses together and closing her eyes to avoid the intensity of his gaze.

“Are you sure? Because you’re fucking yourself on my fingers like you can't get enough.” His low voice made her stomach tighten, and she rocked against him just like he described.

His hand on her breast kneaded and she hummed at the pleasant warmth that was building quickly in her lower belly.

“I can’t help it,” Betty moaned, burying her face into his neck and nibbling. “You feel so good inside me.”

He groaned, lips and breath moving against her ear as he spoke.. “My cock would feel even better.”

Biting down on the juncture of his shoulder, Betty sucked as she pressed herself as close to him as she could possibly get. Her pussy clenched around his fingers and her thighs tensed when he fucked into her with enough force to draw her sharp gasps from her chest.

“Oh, Jughead—”

“Juggie,” he said sharply in her ear, sending her eyes flying open as they rolled back. “Say it.”

Her thighs trembled and she yanked on his hair, fingers tangling deeper and further under his beanie. “Juggie,” she breathed quietly, but she liked the sound so much that she said it again, louder.

Jughead pumped his fingers faster, his growl in her ear sending sparks through her middle. “That sounds so fucking good, I’m gonna dream about this for the rest of my life.”

Clenching her eyes tightly shut as he ground his palm against her clit, Betty’s breath hitched in her throat. “R—really?” she panted.

Her thoughts were a jumbled mess but his words shocked her like an electric current. They made her feel like her hair was standing on end and her fingertips felt numb and tingly as she twisted his hair between them.

“Jesus Christ, of course, Betty.” He laughed into her ear and she couldn't help but smile.

Her head fell back against the bookcase, back arching as his fingers pulled out and circled wetly around her clit. “Fuck, I’m close, Juggie.”

She pushed her chest against his hand, his responding fingers tugging the cup of her bra down and pinching at her nipple.

Blood pounded in her ears along with Jughead’s groan of appreciation, long and drawn out. She tugged harshly on his hair, tilting his head back to look him in the eye. Her lips curved up in a smirk. “Quiet,” she reprimanded.

His eyes flashed darkly before he leaned forward and kissed her.

It was all heaving chests and mingled breaths, clutching at every part the other could reach. The impossible closeness of their position combined with the heat between created a static storm of tension that had her veins thrumming with life.

“I want you to come all over my fingers, Betty.” Jughead kissed across her jaw, tilting her head back as he continued down her throat. “There is so much more I’d like to do to you. Fuck.” He rocked his pelvis against her hip, cock hard in his jeans.

Betty bucked up against his fingers, lips parting in a gasp as he sucked on the skin above her collarbone.

“Tell me.” The words tumbled out of her mouth and though her cheeks burned, she longed to hear the words she wished he’d say.

He growled in her ear, fingers back to fucking her pussy. “I’d fuck you on every surface we could balance on, baby.”

She bit her lip to quiet her moan, hands grabbing at his shoulders desperately.

“I want your lips on my cock, my come in your throat or all over your tits.” Jughead rubbed at her nipple with his thumb, fingernail catching on it and eliciting a pleasant hiss from her throat. “I’d like to see just how many times I could make you come. You look so beautiful when you fall apart for me.”

His teeth bit at her, working and sucking what would surely become a purple bruise on her skin.

It would be hard to hide there, but Betty didn’t care. Not when his fingers hooked upwards, hitting her g-spot and causing her vision to spot with pretty black dots. Her throat was dry and she sputtered out a gravelly moan. “Right there, don’t stop.”

Jughead rubbed the heel of his palm against her clit in time with the press of his fingers and it was like he was a fucking _magician_ , pulling these tricks on her like it was his job.

“Come, Betty.”

It was a demand she had no problem complying with, her hips rocking upwards with hard thrusts as the world went quiet _—_ the only thing she could hear was her own stuttered breath.

Pulling back from her neck, Jughead moved his hand from her breast to grip her chin, holding her head in place.

Through fluttering eyelashes, their eyes met and the coil tight in her belly cracked like a whip of lightning. It was a crescendo that washed over her with such intensity that it pulled another high-pitched whine from her throat.

The pleasure drifted outward to each of her limbs and had her pussy throbbing and clenching around his fingers.

He fucked her through it with deliberate slowness, fingers massaging her g-spot the whole time.

It made Betty’s legs feel like jelly and she brought her hand down to curl around his wrist to still his movements. “Please, Juggie,” she moaned, tired and boneless as she shook her chin from his grasp and fell into his shoulder.

Jughead’s movements halted, fingers lingering before he pulled them from her underwear.

She felt achingly empty and her pussy clenched as if in protest.

His hand was at her shoulder, pushing her into the bookcase in effort to hold her up so that she could look at him at the same time. He moved his thigh between her legs to help hold her and she squeezed her knees together around him.

“You wanna taste, Betts?” Jughead brought his slick fingers to her mouth, tugging down on her lower lip. He looked at her with half-lidded eyes, his own hips slowly grinding at her.

As she nodded her head, his eyes flickered down to her lips with apparent delight. She parted her lips and he slid his fingers into her mouth.

Tasting herself wasn’t new, but it was incredibly sensual to be swirling her tongue around Jughead’s fingers. She imagined it was his cock after she’d just come all over it and she couldn't help moaning.

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good.”

Humming around his fingers, Betty sucked him clean and he pulled away with a wet pop. She licked her lips, still tingling from her intense orgasm.

They stared at each other, his cock throbbing against her, as they both seemed to catch their breath.

Then, an alarm went off, like a ringtone and Jughead groaned. He dropped his head against hers, foreheads bumping together.  “I gotta get to class, Betty.”

Her heart seemed entirely too achy for his words, and part of her was a little frustrated because she still felt like she needed _more._

“Okay,” she said, still a little breathless.

They parted from each other and Betty adjusted her shirt and bra. “Oh,” she looked up, watching as Jughead slid his phone back into his back pocket. “I have your shirt—”

“I’ll grab it next time. See you later, Betts.”

He kissed her forehead and then rounded the corner of the aisle, out of her sight.

For one: she really hoped he was going to wash his hands before actually heading to class. And two: she felt bad that he was left with a raging boner.

Betty blinked, leaning back against the bookcase and wondering just what the _hell_ that was. But one thing was for sure, her headache had gone away.

After tying the drawstring of her pants, she hurried back to her belongings, feeling relieved when she found that nobody had disturbed them. Relaxing back into the overstuffed chair, she blew some strands of hair away from her face.

She was still a little antsy but her stomach growled before she could lament on why.

Finishing the bottle of water and bag of chips, Betty spent the next thirty minutes on the phone with the bank to get the second transaction credited back to her account. It almost brought her headache back.

Leaving for her last class of the day with a couple of minutes to spare, she wondered why she was even bothering. She spent the entire class staring glassy eyed at the whiteboard, the words jumbled together and the professor's voice just made her sleepy.

After waking the couple of blocks home to her apartment, she realized how tired she was.

Deciding on a hot shower, Betty stripped her clothes off and let the water run down her back. She rubbed over the sensitive places at her neck and collarbone with careful fingers. The touch elicited a pleasant jolt down her spine that had her cheeks heating.

Even though it was only late afternoon, she decided to throw her pajamas on. After picking out a pair of underwear, she pulled on some soft sleep shorts that had little pink kittens on them.  

Chewing on her lip, her eyes landed on her backpack and she opened it to pull out Jughead’s t-shirt.

It still smelled like him, even after a turn in her washer — woody, like pine and paper, and something distinctly soft that she couldn't place. She pulled it over her head and threw her hair into a messy ponytail.

Collapsing into the soft sheets of her bed felt like heaven; she rolled around and wrapped herself in the blanket akin to a burrito and sighed.

Just as she closed her eyes, someone plopped down next to her on the bed.

That someone could only be Cheryl, unless she’d gotten a new roommate or was about to be murdered by an intruder.

Cracking an eye open, she saw the glossy ends of long red hair. “What do you want Cheryl?”

“Can’t I just want to spend time with my cousin?” The redhead reclined in the bed next to her, throwing a foot over Betty’s legs and examining her nails.

“Not usually.”

Cheryl huffed, “I’m offended.”

“When aren’t you?” Betty shot back, grin creeping up on her lips.

A heel dug into her calf and she groaned, wiggling away from Cheryl’s foot.

“I’ve just been wondering where you were. I’m having a midlife crisis and you’re just out doing god knows what with that beanie wearing cad.”  

Betty raised her eyebrows. “Jughead is not a cad. How did you even know I was with him today?”

Some small part of her questioned if she somehow looked like she’d been fingered in a library by Jughead.

“ _That’s_ what you’re commenting on? And I didn’t know, but now I do.” Cheryl narrowed her eyes, brown intensely focused on her as she jabbed a finger into Betty’s arm. “What were you two doing? Walking around, groping each other like a pair of Dutch hookers?”

Her eyes rolled hard and she swatted at Cheryl’s hand. “We just… just hung out in the library. Anyway — you’re only 20, Cheryl. You’re not having a midlife crisis. Try again when you’ve doubled that.”

Cheryl whined, her head coming down to rest on Betty’s shoulder. Her red nails drew little pictures on the pink floral quilt. “I think I like Archie.”

Betty looked at her liked she’d grown another head. “Yeah, and?”

The other girl looked genuinely out of sorts, uncharacteristically quiet.

“Cheryl, you’ve had boyfriends before.”

She nodded, picking at the threads of the quilt. “Of course, but none that I actually _liked_.”

Did Cheryl’s (aka the Grinch) heart just grow two sizes or was the apocalypse happening?

“Well, that’s good isn’t it? I mean, you’ve only known him for a couple weeks, but I’m glad you feel connected to him.” Betty turned onto her side, resting her head in the crook of her arm.

It was unusual to see her cousin with such sincerness on her face and a faraway look in her eyes. It made her hand reach out and curl around the girl’s slender arm with an affectionate squeeze.

“It’s like I’m in an utterly cliche 90’s Disney movie where the princess falls for the stable boy in a forbidden romance,” Cheryl lamented as she collapsed back into the bed and folded her hands primly over her stomach.

Betty scrunched her nose up, “What about this is forbidden?”

The redhead shooed her question away. “It makes the story more exciting. Star-crossed lovers are always tragically poetic and get the best movies, duh.”

“Well,” Betty drawled, “I’m happy for you. Hopefully it ends better than _Romeo and Juliet_.”

Snorting, Cheryl rolled her eyes. “Please. Like I would kill myself over a guy.”

That made Betty smile, shaking her head as her eyes closed.

 

*

 

When she opened them again, the light was barely coming through her curtains and Cheryl had since departed.

Spitting out the hair in her mouth and wiping the drool with the back of her hand, Betty extracted herself from her blankets. With a yawn, she stretched widely on the bed before blinking away the sleep from her eyes.

It took some odd minutes of wiggling around in the bed before she rolled off of it and tumbled to her feet. Sometimes napping only made her feel worse that she had before, but today was a good nap day.

Running her fingers along her tangled ponytail, she shrugged and slid her feet into a pair of soft pink house slippers.

Betty checked her phone on the nightstand, flicking through the daily barrage of texts from her mother. Leaving them unanswered, she plugged her phone in to charge and trudged from her room to find something to eat in the kitchen.

The lights were down low as she came out of the hallway, and she wondered why Cheryl had turned out the lamp in the living room. The light was still on above the stove, so she brushed it off and opened the refrigerator.  

After bending at the waist and grabbing an apple from the fruit crisper, Betty stood back up and her ears popped. She yawned again, before biting into the apple.

It was satisfyingly cold, tart, and slightly sweet.

Crunching on the apple, she almost missed the unmistakable sound of a moan.

Betty froze in place, stopping mid-chew to swallow abruptly.

The apple in her throat landed heavily in her stomach with the words, “God, yes.”

Oh god was right.

Despite her better judgement, she looked over her shoulder before whipping her head back around.

Archie was practically as pale as Cheryl.

They looked like a vampiric couple who were trying to avoid the stereotype by dyeing their hair red.

Betty shivered.

Not sure she could make it back to her room without alerting them to her presence, she tiptoed towards the front door, hoping to escape undetected. Unfortunately, one squeaky floorboard in the entryway gave her away.

“Shit — what was that?” Archie whispered, though not quietly.

Some shuffling and then a groan reverberated through room while Betty stood stiffly in front of the door, hand outstretched for the knob.

“Babe, I thought you said Betty _wasn't home_.”

“Oops.”

_Really, Cheryl?_

“Sorry!” Betty squeaked out, turning the handle and flying through the door without a second thought.

The door clicked shut behind her and she leaned against it.

Only when she took off down the stairs, taking them two at a time, did she realize she’d left her bag, keys, and cell phone in the apartment.

Closing her eyes, she sat on the step with her head between her legs for a minute.

She hoped they’d be done soon.

Tossing the apple back and forth between her hands, Betty pulled herself back up and walked the rest of the way down to the building exit. She stepped out into the alley, looking down at her pink house slippers and wondering if it was worth the risk of stepping on something that might give her an incurable disease or see her favorite slippers ruined.

Betty shrugged and bit into her apple as she walked down the alley to the sidewalk, avoiding the wet puddles from the afternoon rain. It was still early evening and the sun had just begun to dip. She wondered if, even dressed in her pajamas,someone would be willing to buy her a drink — she felt like she needed one.

Though, being that it was a college town, she probably wasn’t the most oddly dressed person around.

Most shops, except for restaurants, were closing for the evening, though the ones she passed were still bustling and full of people.

Standing in front of Aunt Mae’s bakery as she twirled her apple core between her fingers felt like some kind of punishment. Hadn’t she had enough bad luck today?

Karma was stabbing her in the back for getting off in public, most likely.

With a sigh, Betty turned away from the window. Tomorrow, she was definitely getting a lemon donut.

Just as she underhanded the apple core to the trash, she bumped shoulders with someone on the street.

“Betty?”

_Motherfu—_

“Jughead?” she mirrored, acutely aware that she was dressed in the t-shirt she’d tried to return to him earlier, not to mention the rest of her outfit.

He was dressed in the same attire from their earlier encounter and her eyes were drawn to the way the navy flannel stretched across his shoulder.

“You look…” Jughead paused, giving her slow sweep from head to toe, eyes lingering on her lower half rather than the upper.

Maybe Cheryl was right about her legs.

Betty shuffled her weight, toeing one pink slipper against the edge of the sidewalk.

“Cute.”

 _Cute?_ Her nose wrinkled up and he laughed.

“I think you mean sloppy, but sure. Cute is a perfectly acceptable adjective on a normal day.” Betty shook her head, a smile forming on her lips. It was utterly unnerving how he could turn her mood around in an instant.

He hummed in thought, fingers combing a fake beard that she was sure he would never be able to grow. “I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”

“Oh?” Her arms crossed over her chest. “Let’s hear some.”

Jughead focused on Betty’s eyes, and the connection between them burned white hot, crackling in her bones.

“Beautiful, intelligent, captivating, alluring, ambitious, magnetic, spirited, impassioned, intoxicating.”

The way he said the words, eyes never straying from her own, made her throat tighten.

“Those are all very…” Betty blanked on her own adjective, “nice.”

“O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright.” His laugh made her cheeks flush.

The way he tossed his head back drew her eyes to his Adam’s apple and she suddenly felt parched, vibrating with a desire to run her lips across it. Not to mention the effect that the Shakespeare he was throwing at her was causing.

“Nice is the only word you could come up with?” He teased with a smirk.

Betty huffed, prying her eyes away and turning her head to the side. “My brain is a little scrambled after seeing Archie’s ass.”

Jughead’s eyebrows practically disappeared into his beanie. “Care to explain that one, Cooper?”

For some inexplicable reason, her last name dropping from his lips felt like a step back from the playful nicknames they had progressed to.

She pulled a face, shaking her head. “Archie _and_ Cheryl, I should say. I kind of left in a hurry and may have locked myself out of my apartment without any money or my phone.” Which, was so stupid. She should have just fled back into the safety of her room.

“Yeah, I’m not exactly inexperienced in that area, myself. Archie doesn't have any sense of personal space in our shared apartment.” Jughead shifted a plastic bag between his hands, catching her attention.

He noticed her wandering eyes and held the bag up. “I don’t suppose you’re looking for a place to hangout and eat?”

“Is that an offer?” she countered. Her stomach rumbled painfully at the thought of food. The apple was a tease.

“Yeah,” Jughead breathed, “It is.”

Betty’s eyes lingered on his long fingers wrapped around the plastic. She bit her lip, bringing her attention back up to his eyes.

“I humbly accept. Lead the way, good sir.” She offered her hand out and he looked at it for a moment, before extending his elbow for her to curve her fingers around.

“So,” Jughead started as they continued past the bakery and down the street. “Pajamas?”

“Uh, yeah.” Betty looked down at herself, picking at the hem of her borrowed shirt. “This is just a really nice shirt you have here. I was gonna wash it again, obviously. You can have it back today — well, that would leave me without a shirt, but I could borrow a different one if you really want this specific one back—”

“Betts.” Jughead stopped them before she rambled right into the intersection, the crosswalk light still flashing to stop.

Looking up at him, she tried not to let the way he said her name get to her again.

“You can keep it.” He said, hooking his curled finger on the collar and dragging the front of it down a little.

His thumb brushed over the spot above her collarbone, where he had marked her earlier, and she exhaled abruptly.

“I like it on you. Looks… nice,” he teased, mirroring her earlier words.

“Juggie,” she whispered, thrumming with pleasure at the way his eyes dilated in response to the nickname. “O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?”

 _Romeo and Juliet_ was coming up more than air today.

His eyes were so intensely blue, searching hers for what she was saying between the spoken words. Her throat turned dry, as his fingers left her skin.

Jughead cleared his throat. “We should probably get to my apartment. So we can…” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, “Eat? Eat food. Yeah.”

Raising both her eyebrows, Betty’s lips turned up in a smile at his sudden state of ineloquence and the blush brightening high across his cheekbones.

The crosswalk beeped, flashing for them to walk and after a moment of hesitation, he tugged her along. “I can’t say my place is as impressive as yours. My scholarship stipend gets stretched pretty thin.”

A minute or so of comfortable silence passed as they started down down a different set of streets where the houses became more suburban.

“So, we live in a two-bedroom above this store called Ladybug Jewelry. This little old lady converted her garage and our apartment is above it. She always brings us leftovers.” Jughead filled the silence of her unanswered question.

Betty hummed in response, able to see the little white sign advertising the business in the distance. “That’s actually really adorable.”

“Yeah, that’s the adjective I was going for. Shoot for the stars, you know?”

Her eyes rolled and she bumped him with her hip. “Stars, hmm? I have a question for you then…”

When he looked at her curiously, Betty continued, “Are we humans because we gaze at the stars or do we gaze at the stars because we’re human?”

Jughead stopped her then, in the middle of crossing the street to his apartment. He faced her, holding onto her arm. “That is some deep shit, Betty.”

She smiled at the grin on his face.

He pondered for a moment, searching her face. His eyes sparkled with something indiscernible and his lip twitched. “A better question is: do the stars gaze back?”

It was unclear who moved first, but Jughead’s arm looped around her waist as hers found his neck. Their lips met with such intensity that it shook her core with pleasant, fluttering tingles.

It was the kind of kiss that inspired stars to climb into the sky and light up the world.

 

 

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, they actually go inside Jughead's apartment. And... eat. Yeah. *angel emoji*
> 
> I make things occasionally on tumblr. Mostly I rant about Jacob Elordi and how I struggle with writing. So if that's your thing -[@jane-hoppers](https://jane-hoppers.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go after this! Will I wrap this up in a pretty big red sparkly bow? We shall see... 
> 
> Beta'd by my loves, [theheavycrown](https://theheavycrown.tumblr.com) and [opportunistichag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpportunisticHag/pseuds/OpportunisticHag) who do such a wonderful job. It's a miracle actually. Who wants to ever read my stuff unbeta'd ever again? Certainly not I.

They kissed for what seemed like _hours_ , until a car honked at them.

Springing apart with red faces and fumbling hands, Betty yanked on Jughead’s arm and they nearly lost the Chinese food to the pavement.

When they reached the other side of the street, the driver — an elderly man who distinctly looked like he should _not_ be behind a wheel — gave them a dirty look before continuing down the road.

The two turned to each other, standing ankle deep in the wet grass of the man’s neighbor’s yard and burst into laughter.

“Ohmygod,” Betty gasped, clutching at her heart as she about fell to her knees. “That was hilarious.”

Jughead wiped at his eye with the back of his hand. “I think I’m crying.”

Swatting at his chest, a snort escaped before she could stop it. “Shut up.”

In an instant, Jughead’s expression sobered, a dark look flashed across his face before he gripped her upper arms, holding her still as he looked her over. His eyes darted down to her lips and his tongue flicked out to wet his own. “Make me,” he said quietly.

Blinking, Betty stared at him for a moment before she realized they were leaning together and were about to have a repeat moment of the incident in the street. This time in a stranger’s yard; a stranger who was probably about to turn the sprinklers on at them.

“Food’s... probably going to get cold. We should eat first,” she said like there was going to be something after.

 _Was_ there going to be something after?

The echo of _just friends_ rang loudly in her head and the logical part of her knew that nothing they had been doing was “friendly". Se couldn’t help that her stomach got all twisty when she thought about it.

If there was one thing Betty Cooper was good at, it was overthinking everything. And maybe she was overthinking this.

They were just having fun, no big deal.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts, following Jughead across the yard after he nodded complacently. A “right, of course" dropped as a mumble under his breath as he steered her in the correct direction.

They bypassed the little white sign that read Ladybug Jewelry on it and she wanted to stop and coo at it, but he only seemed to walk faster the closer they got.

“I can’t let her see me bringing a girl here,” he threw over his shoulder, suspiciously glancing toward the door of the shop as they passed by to get to the set of steps at the side of the garage.

Raising her eyebrows, Betty tiptoed up the steps behind him. “Is that like a rule you have to follow to live here?”

He paused for a moment and she ran into his back with a soft ‘oof’. He reached back to balance her with a hand on her arm.

“If that were the case, Archie would be long gone.” Jughead hesitated, listening to the sound of a door opening before patting her and gesturing with his chin, climbing the rest of the wooden stairs quickly.

They stopped at the top long enough for him to get the key in the lock and fight with the doorknob before they fell inside.

Betty let her eyes roam around the minimal space while she kicked off her house slippers. “So, why can’t you bring a girl here?”

He glanced at her before stepping out of his Converse. “It’s not that I _can’t_ ,” he said as he moved to the small island that separated the kitchen from the living room. “But I’d never hear the end of it from Mrs. Nelson.”

Assuming that was his landlord, the little old lady who ran the jewelry shop, Betty’s eyes drifted down to the floor and she nodded.

Jughead pulled the cartons of Chinese food from the plastic bag, setting them up in neat rows on the butcher block counter. “She gives Archie hell about all his dates and pinches his cheeks like he’s five. I’m not about that life.”

Looking away from the couch and bean bag chair duo set up in the living room, Betty’s eyebrows raised. “You’re not about an older lady telling you how pretty your girl is?”

Was that a hint of condescension in her voice?

Her stomach clenched uncomfortably and she wanted to ball her hands into fists at the thought of sounding like her mother. So instead, she wiped her hands against her —   _his —_  shirt and began to roll the hem between her fingers.

“I don’t have a girl.”

His back was to her as he rummaged around in the drawer for some utensils, so she allowed her eyebrows to bunch together as she tried not to think about what she was, or was not, to Jughead.

“You don’t go on dates or bring girls back here?” Betty asked as she stepped up to the stool opposite where he was standing. She sat and watched him turn around with a couple of plates in hand.

He shrugged a shoulder lazily. “Not really.”

Crossing her legs, she rested an elbow on the counter, chin slipping into her palm. “You were pretty good about sneaking me up here though.”

Jughead paused in plating their food to look up at her through his lashes — which she noted were longer than her own, _goddamn_ — giving her a crooked grin. “I said not really, not _never_.”

Well, he had her there.

Betty hummed in thought, eyes rolling. She graciously accepted the plate he offered her with a smile before she could decode the way her heart had started to ache.  

Her mouth began to water at the smell of the food. There was a golden fried egg roll, a pile of steamed white rice, beef strips on a bed of veggies ( _oh, baby corn!_ ), and General Tso's chicken.

Her stomach rumbled loudly and she groaned, the echo of only an apple mocking her. What would she have done if he hadn't been walking by to see her outside the bakery?

It was a foolish thing to think about what if’s though, because she’d be in her thoughts all day.

Jughead handed her a fork, sitting beside her on the empty stool. His knee knocked into her thigh and she let it stay there as they began to eat.

“You certainly ordered enough food,” she observed before biting into her eggroll. She started chewing when a thought crossed her mind and made its way out around her mouthful. “You weren't expecting company were you? Shit—”

“No—”

“—because I can leave, I don’t want to impose—”

His hand clamped tightly around her knee and Betty swallowed prematurely, nearly choking on her food.

“I wasn't—” Jughead shook his head, “I’m not expecting anyone. You were a pleasant surprise.” He stood when he noticed her coughing behind the hand over her mouth, grabbing them each a bottle of soda from the fridge.

Betty mourned the loss of the warmth from his palm for mere moments through her coughing fit before she was swallowing the Coca-Cola like it was the fountain of life. Or youth. _Whatever_.

Sitting back down, he cracked open his own bottle. “I actually always order this much food,” he said unashamedly, taking a drink.

Her eyes bugged out a little and she glanced at the containers he'd pulled from, as well as the ones still untouched, and raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

Jughead reached up to rub at the back of his neck, tugging the end of his beanie down.

“It costs a pretty penny when Arch and I want to eat out. That’s why we wanted to go to the buffet the other day. By all accounts, it actually ends up being cheaper.”

She was mildly impressed by their appetite all and understood why they lived where they did, now. “I can see that,” she nodded.

As Betty finished her eggroll, she looked down at her plate and then over to Jughead’s, feeling a little bad that she was eating his food.

“Since you didn't have plans for company, I’m sorry for ruining your night in.” She scrunched her nose up and added, “Especially since Archie’s probably going to be gone all night.”

Jughead slurped up a lo mein noodle and twirled another around his fork. “It’s fine.”

“But—”

“Just eat, Betty.” He fixed her with a look that had her mouth snapping shut.

“O-kay.”

A silence stretched over them as they ate that she wouldn’t exactly deem comfortable.

Poking around at the food on her plate, Betty popped the piece of baby corn she’d been eyeing into her mouth. Peeking over at Jughead, she watched as he stabbed a piece of chicken and then looked away before it got to his mouth.

He sighed. “I didn’t mean for you to stop talking.”

She perked up a little, sitting straighter on the stool as she swiveled her body towards him a bit. “So you like it when I talk?”

Snorting, he knocked his leg against hers. “Obviously. How else would I be able to tolerate you? I didn’t realize when we first met that you were so chatty.”

Her eyebrows knit together and she poked him in the side. “Hey.”

Twisting away from her finger, Jughead retaliated and jabbed his fork towards her.

Betty shrieked and would have fallen off the stool if he hadn’t grabbed her forearm and yanked her towards him. His arm kept her upright as she gathered her balance and, as soon as her heart stopped slamming against her ribcage, she swatted at him. “Don’t do that!”

He rolled his eyes. “Then don't sneak attack me.”

“Fine,” she huffed, wondering if he was ticklish as she shoveled a couple more bites of food into her mouth, chewing as gracefully as she could manage.

There was a pregnant pause and mirth danced in Jughead’s eyes when he spoke. “Let’s play a game.”

“Okay,” she replied instinctively and they stared at each other for several seconds akin to an eon.

Looking back to her plate, Betty scraped up the last few bites of her food. “What kind of game?”

Jughead followed suit, taking her empty plate and fork from her to place in the sink. He began to put the leftovers away, grabbing another eggroll to munch on as he worked. “Kinda like 20 questions. We can play while we browse Netflix.”

There was an unspoken question of how long she was going to stay. But considering she had no phone, keys, or wallet, she imagined that Jughead would be okay with her staying until Archie got home and the coast was clear.

“Let’s not do the like, typical questions though. None of that ‘what’s your favorite color?’ stuff.” Betty grabbed their drinks as she moved to the couch that looked well loved. They didn't appear to have any coasters, so she set the bottles gingerly on the coffee table before settling onto the sofa.

He stepped over her bare legs where they were stretched out on the table, eyes lingering enough for her to notice.

She hid a small smile behind her hand before brushing some flyaway hairs behind her ear.

“I think I already know your favorite color,” Jughead said as he made himself comfortable next to her. He spread his legs widely like boys always seemed to do, drawing her attention to the way his jeans stretched taut.

She had to resist the urge to let her eyes wander further and instead arched an eyebrow, crossing her ankles over one another, arms folding over her stomach. “Oh, really?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, remote in hand as he turned the TV on, eyes decidedly forward.

Betty waited for a moment, wondering just what he was thinking. When he didn't answer right away, she started to get ansty. She had always been touchy about this particular subject, thanks to her mother. “And?”

She could see his grin before he turned to her, just as the screen turned black and the familiar red letters flashed across the screen. As much as she was grateful for the insight into his recently watched list, she was curious to know more.

“Everyone probably thinks it’s pink, right?”

Nodding, her arms pulled up to her chest and tightened as she waited for his elaboration.

Jughead leaned his head back against the couch cushions, eyes fixated on her so deeply that she wanted to shy away.

“Probably because you wear a lot of it. But I’ve noticed that you gravitate towards blue. The opposite of pink, but still complementary.” He paused, studying the way she worried her lower lip between her teeth. “Your favorite color seems like it’d be the same pale blue as the daytime sky.”

Blinking, she stared back at him a little flustered. “Well, I guess I’m not as subtle as I thought.”

He laughed, “Guess mine?”

Betty could have sworn she had him pegged from the very beginning, but he had consistently surprised her the more she got to know him. So, she pursued her lips and looked him over.

He stilled under her scrutiny, with a twitch of his lip.

“Someone who doesn’t know you might say black, because like me, you wear a lot of it. But you could also say plaid in that case.”

His lip twitched further up, “Plaid’s not a specific color.”

“It’s about the aesthetic, right?” she snickered, playing back their encounters for a rough guess. “But you’re very passionate and intense. I think your favorite is the color of the lining of your leather jacket — a deep red.”

His eyebrows lifted and he smiled fully now. “Most excellent deduction, Elizabeth.”

Betty’s eyes rolled at the use of her full name, and she leaned toward him to jab her elbow into his arm. “Why thank you, Forsythe.”

He groaned and tugged on the sides of his beanie, adjusting it on his head. “Okay, enough of that. Another easy question, what’s your favorite book?”

Her answer was well prepared, came easily, and didn’t take much thought, “ _The Bluest Eye_ by Toni Morrison. But honestly, I love anything by her. Most people are surprised my answer isn’t a classic though, considering my major.”  

Jughead nodded, dropping his hands back down to his lap as he used the remote to scroll through the selections on the TV. “I admittedly haven’t read that, but I have read _Beloved_. She’s got a great voice.”

Smiling, Betty tilted her head. “And yours?”

“Oh, uh,” he paused, looking away from the screen.  “ _Love in the Time of Cholera_? By Gabriel Garcia Marquez.”

“Hmm,” she mentally flicked through the catalog on her e-reader before shaking her head. “I don’t think I’ve heard of it?”

He shrugged a shoulder, “Not everyone has. A lot of people settled for the letdown of a movie. And despite what the title and summary would have you believe, it’s not really a book about love.” Jughead sat up a little straighter and cleared his throat. “It’s a really great read because of all the underlying themes, particularly the vices that masquerade as love: jealousy, obsession, desire, pity, and vengeance.”

The way his face lit up made her heart beat quicker, because happy looked _so good_ on him. It was obvious that Jughead connected with the drive to weave a story and not just to tell a tale.

There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he wouldn’t be a beloved author.

“Well, do you have a copy I could borrow?”

Jughead blinked before nodding, “Yeah. Yeah — I do. I’ll find it for you later.”

He sank back into the couch, as if in relief, and she wondered how often he’d had to defend his choices before.

Turning to the TV, she watched him pause on _Planet Terror_ and her hand shot out to grasp his wrist. “Let’s watch this."

With a raised eyebrow, he looked over at her, bewilderment in his eyes. “You’re into this?”

Betty nodded, pulling her hand from his arm, folding it back into her lap. “I saw it a long time ago, but I actually really loved the _Grindhouse Double Feature_ when it came out.”

He got this smirk on his face that forced her to look back to the TV before she did something unrespectable.

“So you liked _Death Proof_ , too?”

“Yes,” she stressed, eyes rolling. “I like Quentin Tarantino — usually.”

“Wait, what _don’t_ you like of his?” Jughead asked, warily.

“Well, it’s obvious someone has a crush, so I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

He snorted, pressing the play button on the Netflix screen, mumbling something under his breath.

Betty laughed, knocking into his shoulder with her own, nudging him. “You are just like Cheryl when someone doesn’t agree with her.”

He sat up straight and gave her a pleading look. “Please don’t compare me to _Cheryl._ ”

Her face crinkled up and she tried not to laugh more than she already was under her breath. “Well, you both think you’re indisputably right most of the time.”

“Excuse me — I am perfectly willing to listen to a compelling argument.” Jughead set the remote down on the coffee table as he relaxed back into the couch.

“Oh?” Betty replied, tongue-in-cheek as she resisted the urge to say anything more. “I’ll keep that in mind.”  

Why did she think it would be insanely hot to have a heated debate with him about a controversial topic? Probably because in her weird brain, they’d end up getting in each others faces and then they’d kiss each other angrily like in all those cheesy movies that she loved hated.

Then, Betty remembered that they were supposed to be playing a game. She hummed while racking her brain for a random question.

“Coconut water or coconut milk?”

Jughead looked at her like she had two heads. “What?”

“Which is better?” Betty shrugged.

He looked perplexed for a moment and then (adorably) wrinkled up his nose. “Neither. Milk comes from an _animal_ , Betty.”

She laughed again and realized this was the most she had smiled in a very long time. “Now that is the exact opposite of Cheryl.”

“Good,” he said determinedly, shoulders relaxing as he put his socked feet up on the coffee table next to hers. “What about you?”

She didn’t have to think for very long. “Coconut milk, by far. It’s creamy and I’m very basic — I like it in my Starbucks instead of regular milk.”

Jughead glanced over at her. “You're anything but basic, believe me.”

She blinked, not quite sure how to respond, so instead she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Favorite curse word?”

Chuckling, he turned back to the screen, fingers coming up to rub at his jaw. “Probably ‘fuck’. I fully endorse everyone watching the YouTube video _The History of the F Word_ , because knowledge is power.”

And if that word wasn’t hot coming out of his mouth, Betty didn't know what was.

She thought about the words Jughead had groaned into her ear earlier, breath hot on her neck. The way his voice always seemed to drop a bit lower when he said the word made her think of the way he had rasped against her in the library, _“There is so much more I’d like to do to you. Fuck.”_

Chewing her lip, Betty crossed her arms over her chest as she contemplated her own answer while trying to keep still. “I guess… mine is probably... I don’t know, I don’t actually say it that much but — cunt?” Her cheeks burned red hot and she couldn’t quite look at him when he turned to her.

“‘Cunt’ is a solid choice. Guys can’t really say that without sounding like a misogynist though. Stigmas, y’know?”

It sounded even better when he said it of course, because _fuck everyone else_.

“Anyway, that was two questions in a row, Betts. My turn now,” Jughead clicked his tongue, bringing her back to earth.

She watched him think for a couple moments, eyes flickering to the screen that she hadn’t been paying much attention to, until he spoke again.

“Would you rather have one life that lasted 1000 years or live 10 lives at 100 years each?”

“Oh damn.” Her lips pursed and she was quite stumped by the question. “Obviously, there’s good and bad to both.”

Jughead nodded, “There’s also the question of reincarnation — would it be you remembering those previous lives with each new one or is it a blank slate? It’s an unknown.”

Her mind raced, thinking of the multitudes of pros and cons.

“I think…” Betty started, “that I would pick 10 lives at 100 years each _because_ I’m super cheesy and I’d enjoy falling in love in each life.”

Tilting his head, Jughead’s crooked his mouth up in a lopsided grin. “Maybe you _are_ basic.”

She shoved at his shoulder, sticking her tongue out at him.

He sighed. “I’m a little torn though. I’d like that for the same reason as you but conversely, while it wouldn't exactly be an eternity, spending almost a thousand years with someone who loves you would certainly be something worthwhile.”

“But what if it took an inordinate amount of time to find that person in the first place and you’ve wasted a lot of years?” Betty asked with a frown.

With a groan, he turned his attention back to the TV. “New question — how would you spend today, if you were going to die tomorrow?”

“Geeze, why so morbid?”

He shrugged, “It’s just my nature.”

The question was more loaded than it initially seemed and for that reason, she couldn’t think so hard about the _why_ or the _when_ or else it brought up so many emotions that it made her stomach start to hurt.

“I guess…” Betty tapped her lip with a finger before reaching down and grabbing her bottle of soda to take a drink. She stared at the label, picking at the edge with her fingernail. “I’d want to do something for someone else. Something that would matter long after I was gone.”

It wasn’t to say that she wouldn’t love to see the Eiffel Tower or another world classic, or do something daring. It just made more sense to do something that affected someone else positively than to experience something that would die with her.

“You are entirely too good for this world, Betty Cooper.”

Looking up, she placed the bottle back on the table and swatted at him. “Shut up. What about you?”

“I know I asked the question, but I don’t really have an answer. Not a good one anyway.” Jughead turned his head toward her, resting his cheek against the couch. “But, I’d like to hear an apology from my parents. An admittance that they couldn't raise a child when they were still children themselves.”

Her brows furrowed and she longed to ask for more information, because she would have listened to him talk for hours if she could.

Something fluttered in her chest and she couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out. “You know, someone once told me that life is too short to be spent in nursing animosity or registering wrongs,” Betty quipped softly.

Jughead raised an eyebrow. “And was that person Jane Eyre?”

She shrugged nonchalantly, “Maybe.”

He chuckled, “Well thanks for the life lesson. But this is something that I can’t just let go easily.”

She nodded in understanding, the telltale sharp tone of her mother’s voice ringing in the back of her brain.

In her effort to think of something else, a thought popped into her head. “What class would you most like to take if we could go to Hogwarts?”

“The question I’ve been waiting for all my life.” Jughead nudged her foot with his and all of a sudden she realized they were sitting closer than they were a minute ago. His denim clad leg was pressed flush against her thigh.

When had he moved closer? Had _she_?

Betty’s brain swirled and she almost missed his answer completely.

“—Professor Trelawney might be a bit strange, but I’m really into the concept of divination and Seers?”

Jughead went quiet for a moment and she almost reached her hand out to him as he stared up at the ceiling.

“I just…” he paused. “There’s something about getting even a vague glimpse of the future that’s enticing. I’ve spent most of my childhood and teens looking for some sort of stability. It was always a game of ‘what’s going to happen to fuck things up today?’ and that’s incredibly tiring.”

Her heart dropped deep into her belly and she ached for him. “Oh, Juggie.”

Even though her cheeks burned at the mere mention of the name on her tongue, she tentatively put her hand on his forearm. He wasn’t wearing long sleeves, so she traced her fingers along the bare skin of his arm, watching goosebumps raise in her wake.

The room was silent, until Betty shifted to bring her feet back to the floor as she angled towards him. “I’d take transfiguration,” she started, stilling her fingers path as he looked up at her. “I’d like to hide away from my mother and, short of becoming an animagus, that’d be the way to do it. The freedom that comes with magic is very empowering and I often find myself re-reading the books to immerse myself in that world. It gives me a little bit of strength.”

There was no way to tell the evening would have delved into such introspection, but she wasn’t complaining. She found it easy to talk to Jughead, more so than anybody else.

“Parents fucking suck.” He sighed, dragging a hand up to his beanie, pulling it entirely off his head this time.

Curling her arms back to her chest, she nodded.

There was a quiet moment filled with just the sound of their breathing and the zombies on the screen before Jughead looked over at her. Betty watched his eyes flicker over her face before dropping down to her lips.

He licked his own, wiping his palms against the legs of his jeans. She thought for a moment that this was the point in movies where there was some sort of romantic revelation — but he stood abruptly, moving toward the kitchen before she could be utterly mortified about even thinking of such an absurd idea.

Jughead was only gone long enough to fish two fortune cookies out of the takeout bag still laying on the counter.

She accepted the one he handed to her and unwrapped it while he settled back down beside her.

Cracking it in half, she pulled the slip of paper out and juggled the pieces of cookie between her fingers as her eyes scanned the words.

The crunch in her ear drew her attention back up, Jughead ate his in two bites. He tossed the paper to the coffee table without looking at it.

She was curious as she bit into her own, dropping the slip of paper next to his.

On the screen, Cherry and Wray were using an obscene amount of the word ‘fuck’ and Betty decided, yeah, she could see why Jughead liked this movie and the word in particular.

Chewing on the last bite of her cookie, she realized the characters were undressing each other. And despite the absurdity of the scene itself, and the brief glimpses of the actors, it was still sensual enough to make her cheeks heat up.

The way the man kissed down the woman’s neck had her hand itching to touch her own throat. It was only hours ago that Jughead’s lips were all over her neck, fingers knuckle deep in her pussy.

The scene was tasteful and she peeked over at him, he was still watching intently. She chewed on her lip, suddenly desperate for a drink of water as she contemplated how obvious it would be if she pressed her thighs together.

Then Jughead murmured quietly, as if hoping she wouldn’t hear, “Would you rather be on top or on bottom?”

The question itself wasn’t shocking, but the air was charged like a summer storm ready to strike. Betty released her lip only to run her tongue over it, an answer bubbling in her throat.

Her hand landed on his knee, reminiscent of the way he’d placed his on hers earlier. She wondered idly if his skin tingled the same way hers did when they touched, or if she was simply starved for him.

Betty gripped through the denim then swung her leg over his lap so that she was straddling him, hands shifting to his shoulders. “On top,” she whispered, watching the way his jaw clenched with restraint.

His hands hovered over her thighs, not quite touching, as his brows knit together in confusion. “Betty…”

“Shh,” she hushed him, hands sliding up to cup his face. “Let me pay you back for all you’ve done for me today.”

Jughead sighed but couldn’t seem to resist leaning into her touch. “I don’t need to be repaid. I _wanted_ to do those things.”

Leaning forward, Betty brushed her nose over his and let their breath mingle. The smell of sweet fortune cookie on his tongue had her closing the distance as she murmured against his lips, “And I _want_ to do this.”

His hands settled on her thighs, warm palms covering the sides of her legs, fingers sliding up underneath the hem of her shorts.

Their lips came together slowly and she almost yelped when Jughead immediately nipped at her bottom lip, already swollen from her own ministrations.

He took the opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth and Betty sighed, hands moving to bury themselves in his hair. She shimmied forward in his lap and finally lowered herself to sit atop his thighs.

“Goddamn,” he mumbled into her mouth, breath fanning her face as he exhaled deeply through his nose.

The contrast of denim against her bare legs with Jughead’s hands on her skin make her hum pleasantly. He was half hard already and she tilted her hips to grind against him slowly. Her fingers threaded through his hair, grabbing a handful to tug on.

Grunting into her mouth, he sucked on her tongue before pulling away sharply. His head tilted back when she tugged again and his mouth dropped open, eyes closed as his nose pointed toward the ceiling.

Betty grinned where she had her lips pressed to the front of his throat, Adam’s Apple bobbing under her.

She could feel his cock underneath her go from still, to twitching and hard against her thigh. Sliding her free hand between them, she palmed him through his jeans as she licked up his neck.

“Tell me what you want, Juggie.” Betty mirrored his words from earlier in the day, teeth scraping against the underside of his jaw as she rocked forward in his lap.

Gripping her legs, he dragged his nails down her thighs as he lifted his hips. “Fuck, I want you in every way, Betty. How could I ever choose?” He groaned as she sucked a red bruise into the side of his neck.

“Well,” her tone was sing-song, “how about I tell you what I want, then?”

He nodded as she tugged on his hair once more before carding her fingers through and dropping to his chest. She rubbed the palm of her hand in his lap against his cock, whispering in his ear, “I want you to fuck my mouth.”

Jughead panted a little, hips thrusting up into her touch. “Jesus fucking christ, _yes_.”

Smiling into his neck, she kissed under his ear before patting his leg affectionately and sliding backwards off his lap. She took a mental picture of the way he looked, so rumpled and strung out, cheeks flushed with color.

Betty dropped to her knees between his legs and he looked down at her like she hung the moon in the sky.

Her hands slid up his thighs and she tugged a little on his jeans. “Scoot forward.”

He obeyed, sitting upright, and watched her through the dark hair that had fallen into his eyes.

She longed to push it up and back off his forehead, to kiss him until the sun shone brightly the next day. But, there were other things at hand.

Betty reached for the fly of his jeans and when she heard his audible swallow, she grinned. Helping herself to the button, she popped it open and dragged the zipper down slowly. She pushed the denim aside, crooking her fingers under the hem of his boxer briefs.

Feeling emboldened, she looked up at him through her lashes. “I thought about dropping to my knees for you in the library.” She snapped the waistband against him, his abdominals contracting visibly with his groan of appreciation. “But you just had to be a good boy and go to class.”

Jughead tossed his head back when she ran her index finger over his cock, featherlight through the fabric. “Believe me, I wish I hadn’t.”

Tilting her head, Betty hummed curiously. “Why’s that?”

He lifted his head and she noted his pupils were blown wide. She wondered how he would look when she actually got her mouth on him.

“Because I could have had your lips wrapped around me then and your legs wrapped around me now.”

Betty tsked despite the grin that spread on her face. She squeezed her legs together at the pretty picture it invoked and wondered if there would be a next time.

Words flew out of her mouth before she could really think twice of them, “A pretty cunt more important than your grades?”

She reached for the band of his underwear again, yanking determinedly on them this time. Jughead took the hint and lifted his hips in order for her to pull them down just far enough that his cock sprung free. He mumbled something under his breath, shoving his underwear and jeans down his thighs a bit.

She didn’t quite catch the words but wasted no time lamenting and wrapped her hand around him, squeezing gently. “You’re hard as rock for me.”

He jumped under her touch when she used her thumb to swirl over the head of his cock. She let her fingernail catch on the silt, scraping it gently down the side.

“Shit, Betty—” Jughead warned, gripping the edge of the couch on either side of his legs with both hands. Letting out a hiss, he tilted his hips upwards, while her hand slid down and then back up.

Betty pumped his cock a few times before pulling away. She cupped her palm below her mouth and spit. Glancing up, she saw Jughead watching her, tongue running over his lower lip, and the heat that was in her cheeks spread outward.

She shrugged, mumbling, “I’m sure you know this’ll feel better,” and spit into her hand once more before spreading it over him.  

He groaned when her hand slid much easier on his cock, wet and warm. Thrusting into her fist, he nodded complacently. “Yeah — fuck, y—es. Much better,” he drawled. His hips stuttered upwards as they worked together in rhythm until she tired of the motions.

There was only so much repetition Betty could do until her wrist or jaw started to get sore. She wondered how he kept up with her earlier in the library when she was practically fucking herself with his fingers.

She could count on one hand the number of times she had given a blowjob and she had rushed through each one. But that wasn’t her intention today, and Jughead had her undivided attention.

Without warning she leaned forward and took him into her mouth, all the way down to where her hand gripped the base of his cock.

“Fuuuck, _Betty_ —”

His hands flew up to her head and Betty feared for a moment that he was going to shove her head down further — it wouldn’t be the first time. Instead, one hand wound around her ponytail and the other did its best to weave into the strands at her scalp.

There were pros and cons to having her hair up for this.

After tensing up for nothing, she relaxed and laved her tongue along the underside of Jughead’s cock. He yanked sharply on her ponytail when she swirled her tongue around the tip, and a spark worked its way down her spine to curl low in her belly.

If she hadn’t already soaked her underwear at the sounds he was making, she certainly had now.

Betty pulled off of him and a trail of spit from her mouth hit her chin, she wiped it away with the back of her hand. “Messy,” she said absentmindedly as she started back in, flicking her tongue across the tip of his cock.

“Going to be messier a lot sooner than I’d like,” Jughead rasped out, fingers wrapping her ponytail tighter around his hand. He used the other to trace down her temple before it fell to his side, curled into a fist.

It only served to boost her ego and she grinned up at him wickedly before taking him in her mouth again.

His head tilted back with a moan and Betty had to squeeze her legs together, hips rocking as her clit started to ache. She wondered how far she could get before she needed a helping hand herself.

Bobbing her head up and down on his cock produced a nice steady series of sounds from his throat. When she hollowed her cheeks and sucked, it had his hand _yanking_ on her ponytail and she couldn't help the moan the sensation pulled from her.

In turn, Jughead babbled something unintelligible before doing it again and she opened her eyes, not realizing she’d closed them. Looking up at him, she fluttered her eyelashes, hips rocking subtly.

“Ah, Betty—” he swallowed thickly. “Jesus, _fuck_.”

She gripped at his thigh with her free hand and wiggled her fingers into the gap between his clothes until she felt his skin. Scraping her nails down his leg, she breathed through her nose before she sank all the way down to her hand. It was enough to make her eyes water and she pulled back up after a moment only to bob back down.

“Wanna fuck your mouth forever, baby,” Jughead murmured quietly and she hummed in agreement around him.

Pulling away with a wet pop, she pumped him with her hand while she licked her lips. “Really fuck my mouth then, Jug. _Please._ ”

The sound of her voice rang in her own ears and Betty hoped that it didn’t sound as thoroughly fucked up as she feared.

But he groaned in response, fingers tugging on her hair, causing her mouth to drop open in a little gasp. Her hand paused as she rocked back and forth, thighs squeezing tightly together for some friction — but it still wasn’t enough.

She released his leg and raised  her fingers up to her mouth, sucking on two of them while looking up at Jughead through her eyelashes. He watched her with rapt attention, cock twitching in her hand when he realized what she was about to do.

“Betty—” His words dissolved into a moan when her hand slipped beneath the hem of her shorts and disappeared from view.

Her lips found their way back to the side of his cock a as she slipped her fingers around her clit. The superficial ache she felt was instantly abated, but a deeper one began to brew in its place, and she was almost certain that no amount of orgasms she gave herself would solve it.

Dropping her mouth open in a pant, Betty thrust her fingers into her pussy, breath fanning over Jughead’s cock as she laid her head on his thigh.

“Jug, I’m so wet,” she whined and he pulled at her ponytail to bring her head back up.

His hand unfurled from the fist at his side to drag his thumb over her lower lip, tugging it down. He hunched forward and tilted her chin up while drawing her face closer.

The kiss he pressed to her mouth surprised her, guys didn’t usually want to kiss right after you’d sucked their cock — but there he was, putting his tongue in her mouth, driving her fucking wild.

Biting on his lip, Betty pulled it between her teeth as they kissed. It was an intense graduation of pressure between their lips, a push and pull that made her dizzy before her scalp started to tingle. She whimpered into his mouth and he pulled away with a small sigh, letting her head back down.

Jughead licked his lip, swollen and red where she’d bitten him, and smirked down at her.

Her fingers moved against her clit in lazy circles as she regained her breath. The way he was looking at her sent a shudder down her spine, mouth falling open in a moan of his name.

“Multitask,” he murmured, eyes darting from hers to his lap and then back again.

She rolled her own and stuck her tongue out at him before leaning forward and running it over his cock. Pumping her hand upwards, she rubbed her thumb in circles over the head and licked at it in tandem.

When he started to buck up against her, she took him in her mouth again, her hand falling away to grab a handful of the couch. Relaxing her throat was the hard part, but she looked up at him doe-eyed, silently pleading for him to fuck her.

He leaned back onto his hand and used the leverage to thrust into her mouth. His fingers, tangled in her ponytail, helped to guide her up and down, letting her focus on trying not to gag.

 _Fuck, please_ , she thought as she took slow breaths in through her nose, knuckles turning white against the couch.

She wasn’t even sure if things could _get_ hotter than Jughead fucking her face, but then again, she really wanted to ride his — and that got her own hand going again.

Rocking forward, Betty sank down on her fingers to the knuckle, then curled them. She moaned around his cock and his hips jerked erratically. Her eyes watered again as she looked up at him and he slowed down to a leisure pace.

“Sorry,” he said quietly.

As her mouth was too occupied to reply, she just hollowed her cheeks and sucked, since he had seemed to like it earlier, bobbing her head up and down.

“Oh fuck — I’m gonna, ugh — gonna come, Betty.”  

She was half glad because her own orgasm was coming on rapidly.

“Mmm,” Betty swirled her tongue around him before pulling away, bringing her hand back to wrap around him. Jughead bucked upwards into her hand in time with her strokes and she fucked herself with the same rhythm, catching her g-spot.

She pondered for a brief moment, wondering if she wanted him to come in her mouth or not before deciding _yes_ , she wanted to taste him.

“I want you to come in my mouth, Juggie.”

He cursed under his breath, nodding once before tugging on her hair so hard that it made her see black spots — a pleasant feeling that had her pussy clenching over her fingers.

Blinking them away, Betty licked her lip before taking him back into her mouth. It wasn’t long after she began to lave her tongue over the head of his cock, that Jughead’s head rolled back against the couch and his hips stuttered upward.

She sucked, twisting her hand upward, and finally he went rigid under her. Warm liquid hit her tongue and she looked up to find his jaw slack and his eyes focused on her intently, all dark — not a hint of blue.

After working him through his orgasm, Betty waited until his hips had stilled completely then carefully pulled away from his cock.

She brought her hand up from between her legs and cupped her palm under her mouth. Letting some of his come dribble from her lips, she coated her fingers.  

Jughead’s eyes, that had gone half-lidded, opened wide and he snapped his mouth shut as he watched her reach back under her shorts. His hand tightened in her hair and she bit at her lip, leaning into his grip.  

“I—I’m almost there too,” she said with a shaky breath.

Her fingers circled around her clit, wet and sloppy as she rocked her hips harshly against her hand. Her breath caught in her chest and it felt hard to breathe as she teetered on the brink of her orgasm.

Jughead hooked a finger under her chin to tilt her head up to look at him. “Let go, Betts.”

Betty made a keening sound low in her throat as desire ran down her spine, finally sending her over the edge. It was akin to being doused with icy water after being ablaze, her skin tingled from head to toe as she panted wordlessly.

Their eyes were locked together and her orgasm felt stronger for it.

Her fingers stilled against her clit when the waves of pleasure made their way through her body for the last time. Feeling a bit lightheaded, she sucked in a breath as she came back to herself.

“I saw no heaven but in her eyes,” Jughead murmured, blissed out as he dropped his head backwards again.

Betty wondered if he even realized that he’d quoted Edgar Allen Poe while watching her come. She supposed it wasn’t really that weird, though. In fact, literary banter was kind of their thing.

Pulling her hand from her shorts, she glanced down at her sticky fingers. She brought them to her mouth and popped them in with little thought.

Even though her mouth felt ten kinds of numb, she licked them clean while Jughead watched her with a dazed look. She smiled shyly when she finished, knees creaking as she stood.

He snapped out of the orgasm-induced fog fairly quick and fastened his jeans before wrapping an arm around Betty’s waist to draw her in. “Fuck, that was hot.”

She slid into his lap, knees on either side of him. His breath was hot in her ear and it made her skin erupt in goosebumps as she settled into his lap and chest.

“It really was,” Betty murmured.

As she positioned her head to fit neatly into the crook of his neck, she forced herself to think about anything other than the fact that they came together perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle.  

 

 

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted Chinese food when I was writing this and I really want it again now, ya feel? Or maybe you guys want an orgasm?  
> Whatever floats your boat. 
> 
> tumblr: [@lilibug--xx](https://lilibug--xx.tumblr.com)


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